


Holes in Our History

by literaryempress



Series: Max and Isaac's Infinite Storybook [1]
Category: Gotham (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Twins, Child Abandonment, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Evil Twins, Family Fluff, Family Secrets, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:12:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5022490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryempress/pseuds/literaryempress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian Gallagher turns one year older with his husband, two kids, and his friends and family by his side. Years later in their marriage, and Ian and Mickey could say that everything has been said, done, and understood between each other. However, after news outlets report missing inmates from a New York mental hospital, Ian has to unfold a hidden part of his life before hell breaks loose under the roof of his own home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Birthday Boy

Ian woke up one morning to his youngest son Isaac kicking him hard in his side. Normally, on these type of mornings, especially the ones that started at 7:59 a.m., Ian would wrap the covers all over his head and try to forget that the world was trying to drag him out of his cocoon.

However, today was very special. Ian could only be grateful that not only he has a loving husband and two kids by his side, but also that he is alive to witness being another year older.

“Happy birthday, Daddy.” Ian heard Isaac whisper to him, and the redhead’s eyes pierced open. A dark-haired four-year-old was laying on his left side, looking his father directly in the eye with a huge smile on his face that resembled Mickey’s so much.

About two years after Ian and Mickey had gotten married, it was, of course, Ian’s decision on wanting to have children, and Mickey wanted nothing more than to make his husband happy. It was Mickey’s idea for their first child, Max, who was now about seven and a half, to mostly resemble Ian. Mickey loved the thought of having a mini redhead with Ian’s green eyes running around the house. He dealt with years of chasing after the damn kid through the city park, but it was worth it to see the tiny little smile that reminded him so much of the man he loved.

Max was three years old when Ian thought about what would happen if he had a younger brother or sister. It would add more stress on him and Mickey, sure; however, Mickey’s words were well in Ian’s head, and he thought it applied to Mickey as well.

“I knew how much you wanted this, Ian. You wanted this so bad, and I do, too. And after we got all this information and shit, I thought about what would happen if you had left. Like, if something were to happen to you and I would lose you.” Mickey told Ian one night, playing with the thick blanket that hung over his stomach. “If I lost you, Ian, I wouldn’t have anyone else. You would be gone, and I would spend every waking minute missing that damn red head of yours and those stupid green eyes and that fucking smile.”

And that’s how Max Gallagher became a new member of the family. He was created with the love Mickey possessed for Ian and the fear that he had of losing him.

If Ian was really honest, he had the same idea about Mickey.

It took more convincing than Ian had expected, but Mickey had agreed anyway. Halfway before Max turned four years old, Isaac Gallagher was born, and the couple finally had two kids that had each of their physical qualities.

And here they both were, waking up in a king-sized bed with the youngest child crawling in between them.

Ian grinned at the sight of little Isaac and reached a hand over to his face to caress his cheek. “Thank you, little man,” he cooed, finally gaining enough effort to sit up and hold the child closer to him. “Hey son, how did you sleep?” Ian asked, running a hand through Isaac’s dark hair.

Before he could even answer, Mickey was stirring a little bit in the bed beside them. “Must have been real fuckin’ nice if he was kicking my damn side all night,” Mickey grumbled, stretching his arms and legs out.

Ian had been holding his hands over Isaac’s ears for the duration of Mickey’s morning greeting. “Mick, come on. No swearing around the kids.”

“They’ll hear it more eventually.”

Ian stale faced him before throwing a pillow directly at his face. Mickey automatically started laughing before rubbing his face clean of the soft yet throbbing pain from the pillow that was tossed his way. When Mickey was fully awake, he sat up and leaned against the headboard, turning his head slightly and noticing Ian and Isaac sitting with each other.

“Papa’s been acting bad, Isaac,” Ian told the little boy in his best baby voice. “Remember when we told you that bad kids get in trouble?”

Isaac covered his mouth with both of his hands, whirling around in Mickey’s direction. “Ooh, Papa’s getting in trouble!” he called out, and Ian smirked behind him as he caught a sight of Mickey shielding his face with his hand. “Does he have to go sit in the naughty corner, too?” Isaac asked his daddy, gazing up into his green eyes.

“Oh, no,” Ian replied. “Only teeny tiny kids have to sit in the naughty corner. Older kids have to start putting money in a swear jar.”

Mickey literally rolled his eyes at how ridiculous Ian was, but for some reason, he let it continue.

“What’s a swear jar?” Isaac asked, and Ian scooped him up a little so he was better adjusted onto Ian’s lap.

“A swear jar is a jar you fill up with money whenever you say a bad word,” Ian explains. “You haven’t started earning allowance yet, but when that happens, you’re able to pay money in the swear jar if it ever happens. But we don’t want you giving away your money, right?”

Isaac rapidly shook his head. “No, Daddy.”

“Imagine all the toys Papa and I could get you with the money you earn,” Ian added. “Remember that train you wanted last Christmas?”

Isaac nodded. “I will never curse, Daddy. Never ever.”

Mickey snickered under his breath but hid it at the last minute when Ian had inched an eyebrow on his forehead. A part of this conversation made Mickey laugh, partially because Ian speaking in his baby voice was the most hilarious thing ever, and partially because the duo beside him looked really adorable together.

Ian kissed Isaac on the head and ruffled his hair a little bit before looking back down at him. “Hey, why don’t you go wake up your brother, and we can have pancakes for breakfast in a little while. Okay?”

“Okay,” Isaac replied with the cheekiest grin Ian ever saw out of the little boy. With that, Isaac climbed out of the bed and ran out of the mens’ room into Max’s bedroom, leaving Ian and Mickey by themselves.

After a couple moments of silence, Mickey turned to Ian and frowned. “A swear jar? Seriously? I ain’t giving up scrap money for your ass because of one word. We have to pay for gas and food around here, man.”

Ian smiled and scooted closer to his husband. “I’m thinking about the kids, Mick.”

Mickey scoffed. “Sure. You gonna be thinking about ‘em when you won’t be able to buy those stupid Netflix movies on your account anymore after I catch _you_ cursing in front of them one day?”

“Who needs them when we can make a rom-com here in our own house?” Ian asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and leaning his head into his hand.

Mickey started laughing. “You’re fucking gross, man,” he said lowly, secretly making sure that neither Max nor Isaac heard what he said from the open bedroom door. Luckily, Max wasn’t up yet, and Isaac went to go get him.

Though Ian and Mickey had to keep their eyes on Isaac whenever they were up to very suggestive activities.

“But I’m right.” Ian had whispered seductively at that, and at that moment, he scooted even closer to Mickey, his mouth making it to the side of his face as he left hot, wet kisses beside Mickey’s ear. The older man started to moan a little bit as he felt the sensation of Ian’s tongue on his skin.

Mickey allowed Ian to get him heated up for about a minute before he snapped back into reality. “We gotta stop, man.”

“A particular reason why?” Ian asked, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he got closer to Mickey’s mouth.

“Morning breath.”

“Nothing I can’t manage.”

“We both fuckin’ stink.”

“Shower’s big enough for the both of us, you know?”

“What about the kids?”

“Peachy keen, Mick.”

“You literally told Isaac that you were gonna fix pancakes,” Mickey pointed out, blue eyes staring dead into green.

“I’m sure he can wait ten more minutes, now can he?”

When Ian made it to his mouth, he shared an intense stare with Mickey before they crashed their lips together. Ian knew how much Mickey hated morning breath, but he couldn’t help himself. Kissing the man was the best thing about his mornings, his afternoons, and his evenings. He could do it all day every day, if he wanted to.

However, he knew that it wasn’t possible. They both had occupations and other responsibilities to keep up with. That’s why Ian had to savor these moments for the rest of his life. He wanted these moments to last forever in his mind and right before his eyes. He believed in the whole _life is too short_ thing, and he knew Mickey did, too, or else their kids wouldn’t be here today.

Ian had to make the most of this while it last.

Speaking while it still lasted, Ian was just about to reach a hand down towards Mickey’s boxers when he heard Isaac call from the other room. “Papa, Daddy! When are the pancakes gonna be ready?”

Mickey shot a knowing look in Ian’s direction. “Think again, smart ass,” he whispered before moving the covers off of him and making his way towards the bathroom.

Ian already knew that Mickey won this time.

* * *

About an hour or so later, Ian was at the stove, preparing the last of the pancakes to place on the already-overflowing stack beside him on the countertop. Isaac and Max were in front of the television watching something on Nickelodeon while Mickey was setting the table for the family to eat. When he was done, Mickey joined Ian in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around the man’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Now you feel like being close to me?” Ian’s remark didn’t bite one bit, and Mickey just stood behind him, placing a kiss on his neck.

“I’ll make it up to you later on today,” Mickey whispered with a smile creeping on his face.

“You sure about that?”

“It’s the birthday boy’s special day. Why wouldn’t I spend my time making your tall ass happy?” At that, Mickey stood up on his toes and captured Ian in a small mouth kiss before releasing him and leaning against the counter.

His eyes scanned the kitchen for a moment and noticed Isaac reaching into one of the cabinets for the cookie jar. Mickey immediately grabbed the little boy and picked him up off the floor, taking the cookie jar and placing it back in the cabinet. “No way. No cookies in the morning.” When he saw Isaac stick his bottom lip out and pout, Mickey cocked an eyebrow his way. “I’m not letting you get sick again and face the next few years of your life with type one diabetes. Remember when you ate all of that Halloween candy and had a stomachache?”

Ian smiled as he turned towards Mickey and Isaac. The sight of Mickey holding his little mini me was too precious to pass by. “There are ways of telling him without scaring him, Mick.”

“Someone’s gotta talk sense in this little guy before he starts repeating himself,” Mickey mumbled under his breath before looking Isaac in the eye. If he didn’t know any better, Mickey would have said that he looked a lot like himself when he was a toddler. Isaac sure did have his father’s little arms that will one day become as strong as Mickey’s.

Isaac rested his head onto Mickey’s chest. “I’m sorry, Papa. I’m hungry.”

“Is that right?” Mickey asked, bouncing the kid in his arms while rubbing his little back. Isaac nodded. “Don’t worry, man. Ian’s got your back.” Ian had returned to checking on the pancakes that were cooking on the frying pan, but he couldn’t help but smirk when he heard his name.

Mickey kept entertaining the little toddler in his arms as Ian placed the last couple of pancakes on the plate. Mickey pinched at Isaac’s cheek and cooed at him. “Ay, don’t die on me now. Food’s ready.” As Ian walked to the dinner table with the plate of pancakes, Isaac followed his gaze, holding onto Mickey as he carried him all the way to the table, setting him down in one of the dining room chairs.

“Max,” Ian called to his other son in the living room, “breakfast is ready.” By then, all four of them were at the dining room table, with Ian placing three pancakes on everyone’s plates except Isaac’s. When the dark-haired boy reached for more, Ian dragged them out of his reach.

“Hey, eat what you have in front of you, and you can have more when you’re ready. Sound good?” Isaac nodded reluctantly before eating the first pancake that was placed before him. Once everyone was served, Ian took his seat between the kids and across from Mickey.

“What are we doing for Dad’s birthday today?” Max asked Mickey, and Ian blushed to the side after catching Mickey’s eye.

Mickey, his eye still on Ian, leaned closer to Max and started whispering. “Remember what I told you, alright? He ain’t supposed to know just yet.”

“Know what?” Ian asked with a smirk on his face.

“Papa says you’re not supposed to know yet,” Isaac spoke, making Mickey giggle under his breath.

“Yeah, it’s a secret,” Max added.

“Yeah, a secret.” Isaac agreed.

Ian held his hands up in surrender. “Fine, okay. I guess I’ll find out later today then, huh?” The boys nodded, Isaac tearing up his pancake with his bare hands and Max dipping some of the scrambled eggs into the syrup that was on his plate.

Even if it was seven years later on in his life, Ian couldn’t believe that Isaac and Max were both here in the family. They were both very good kids, in Ian’s eyes as well as Mickey’s. For the past seven years in Ian’s life, engaging with those kids was, and always will be, the best part about his day. They released all of the tension out of Ian’s life, primarily the tension revolving around his job at the Department of Family Services office. He loved his job, don’t get him wrong; but at the end of the day, if he could choose a job that would make him happy, it would be one where he got to spend time with his kids for as long as they were still young.

At the sight of Isaac getting syrup on his tiny fingers, Ian grabbed a couple of napkins and wiped the sticky substance off. “You know, if we’re being honest here, though,” he spoke up for the whole table to hear, “I don’t necessarily need anything major, if you’re thinking about it.”

Isaac frowned. “But Daddy, it’s supposed to be your big day.”

Ian smiled. “Every day is always a big day when I’m with you guys,” he responded. “Daddy has to work in an office every day, and while it’s a lot of fun, I prefer to spend my days with you two and Papa. As long as I have you all, I don’t need a present or anything like that.”

Mickey had cut up some of his eggs in front of him as he listened to his husband talk to his son next to him. While a part of him agreed as to why he didn’t want anything big for his birthday, he felt like it was necessary. If it weren’t for Ian, the four of them wouldn’t even be eating together right now.

“I still want to do something for you birthday, Daddy,” Isaac replied, “because you’re the best Daddy ever.”

Ian and Mickey both smiled uncontrollably at Isaac’s response. “Thank you so much, son,” Ian told Isaac, ruffling his hair up a little bit. “But I’m not the only one, though; I mean, Papa’s a really good daddy, isn’t he?” At that, Ian glanced straight ahead and smirked in Mickey’s direction.

Mickey chuckled. “You done flattering yourself or somethin’?”

“Come on. You know you are.” Mickey blushed, and Ian hid his face as he ate another piece of his pancake.

“But Papa is a papa, and you’re a daddy,” Isaac spoke up. Mickey was trying to hold himself together on his side of the table, but it was hard when Ian and Isaac were having their conversation across from him right now.

“Could be the same thing, don’t you think?” Ian asked.

Isaac shrugged. “Maybe.”

Ian looked ahead at Mickey, who was now silently laughing while trying his best to hide his smile. “Something funny over there?”

“Yeah, you, dumbass,” Mickey replied, making an attempt to catch his breath.

Max’s head immediately turned towards Mickey. “Dad said a bad word!” he called.

“He has to put money in a swear jar,” Isaac added. Ian innocently looked ahead at Mickey, grinning at him while holding his hand out for a dollar. Mickey deadpanned in his direction before reaching in his pocket and slapping a dollar bill into Ian’s palm.

The whole table was so engaged in their general morning conversation that everyone was oblivious to the sudden news report that appeared on the television in the living room. The cartoons Max and Isaac were previously watching temporarily shut off as a lady with blonde hair, a dark green coat, and a worried facial expression appeared on the screen.

* * *

“Thank you, Logan,” the news reporter spoke to the camera lens and through a walkie-talkie that was connected to her clothes. “I am standing here in downtown New York where a number of patients from the Hamilton County Mental Hospital have been broken out last night at 11:30 p.m. Employees from the hospital have reported that ten of these patients were long-term patients and have not been given a release date, according to their records.”

There was a shot of the mental hospital with some police cars and a few individuals walking past it, and the shot ended with a photo of a redhead with a wide grin on his face.

“One of the patients in custody was a 28-year-old man identified as Jerome Valeska. He was first admitted into the institution after a house fire emerged in his parents’ home after they were both brutally murdered.”

The camera had filmed a shot of a man wearing all white, possessing a couple of scratch marks on both of his arms and a few strands of gray hairs on the top of his head. “He was one of our wildest patients. Whenever we tried to get him to calm down, he would always put up a fight with us. I, I think a couple of months ago, he had twisted one of the female nurse’s arms when they were giving him his shot.”

Another shot on the television screen showed the recreation room inside the mental hospital, the chairs tossed recklessly to the ground. “Faculty of the Hamilton County Mental Hospital do not have any leads on the individual who broke them out nor do they have any idea where the patients have escaped to following the break-out.”

There was a final shot of the building, with some photos of other mental hospital patients appearing in front of it, as the reporter continued, “these people may be a danger to themselves and others. They have been reported missing for about ten hours now, so it is possible that they have left Hamilton County at the time of this report. It is important for everyone to stay safe. If you catch sight of any of these individuals, report them to the police immediately.”

* * *

It had been about an hour since that news report had aired. None of the mental hospital patients have been captured and returned.

The news report had been airing on the television hooked up in an empty diner about five hours away from Hamilton County in New York. A man in a light blue polo and a white apron had been cleaning up the counter while two female waitresses took the dishes to the kitchen to be cleaned. Business wasn’t doing as well since the gentrification in New York, but they managed to keep the store open for the usual returning customers.

The front door bell rang as a man walked through, sporting a brown coat and a Homburg hat on his head. The man cleaning the counter, identified as Bob, glanced up and noticed his customer take a seat in front of him and greeted him in response. “Welcome to Sunny Side Up. May I take your order?”

The man in front of Bob kept his head low as he coughed a bit, speaking up in a low voice. “Just some flapjacks and a coffee.”

“Coming up.”

Bob turned around and called to one of the cooks in the kitchen. “Trisha, some flapjacks and a coffee!”

Bob started to grab a mug from behind the counter, keeping his ears open as the television came back from commercial break. “Police and city officials are still on the look-out for ten inmates who have been broken out of the Hamilton County Mental Hospital last night,” a man began, standing in front of a New York police station.

Bob shook his head in disappointment. “Who the hell would manage to break out insane inmates from a mental hospital?” he spoke aloud, mainly to himself. “The hell’s next, kids driving at the age of twelve?”

He walked back over to the man at the counter, placing the mug in front of him as Trisha came from the back of the restaurant to pour the man his coffee. “We live in a problematic society, sir,” the man spoke, still in his low voice. He took the coffee mug in front of him and lowered his head so he could take a sip. “We’re not a hundred percent free if we’re being held back, you know?”

“Bullshit, it’s problematic,” Bob responded. “They were placed in that hospital for a reason. They have to suffer consequences.”

The man chuckled lowly. “Should there really a consequence for living, sir? We’re always being told what we shouldn’t be doing and what we should be doing, but, uh…” He took another sip of his coffee. “You ever thought about what this country would be like if freedom was actually felt?” This time, the man looked up at Bob, holding the mug in both of his hands and growing a smile on his face. This time, when he spoke, his voice was normal yet menacing. “You know? Lettin’ loose just a little?”

Bob didn’t reply this time. He stared at the man in front of him for no more than five seconds, and he was heading over to the phone attached to the wall. However, before he grabbed the receiver, the man at the counter grabbed a black gun from his coat and shot two bullets in Bob’s back, ultimately killing him.

Trisha, the two waitresses, and three other customers had witnessed what just happened. Before they knew it, bullets were shot at all of them. Not a single soul in that restaurant remained, excluding the one belonging to the murderer and identified mental hospital escapee, Jerome Valeska.

* * *

Ian was done with work around five thirty that evening and was almost ready to pass out. His boss had wanted him to work a litte bit longer than his other co-workers, which was bullshit. For some reason, people at his job like Angela Green and Zachary Patson either didn’t show up or left early, leaving Ian in the middle of their unfinished business. Usually Zachary was the hardest-working guy here; he would never ditch work like that.

Whatever. The work day was over for Ian, so he wasn’t going to hold a grudge against them any longer.

He parked his black car in the garage and turned the ignition off before heading on inside of his home. All of the windows were turned off, so it was safe to assume that Mickey had gone out with the kids – or that Mickey’s boss called him for something and that he had to leave the kids with a babysit.

But it turned out that neither happened. Once Ian unlocked the front door and slipped his coat off, all of the lights turned on out of nowhere, revealing a bunch of his friends, family, and loved ones standing in front of him with smiles on their faces. “Surprise!” they all shouted, and Ian was taken back by surprise himself.

Ian glanced around the room, smiling at the guests who showed up. Fiona was standing in the center of the room, standing beside a now taller Liam. Debbie and Carl were much more mature than the last time Ian saw them as well. Lip’s hair was cut into a buzzcut, and he stood happily beside his two-year girlfriend. Kev and Vee were there, too, with Amy and Gemma Ball-Fisher standing on either side of them. Hell, even Zachary, Angela, and Ian’s boss showed up.

Max ran over to Ian and hugged his father tightly, his right side of his face pressing against Ian’s stomach. “Happy birthday, Dad,” he greeted, and Ian ran a hang through Max’s hair.

Ian laughed as he knelt down and properly hugged his son. “Thanks, son,” he replied, and he looked up at everyone else. “Thank you so much, guys. This is the best thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Fiona smiled sweetly as she made her way over to Ian, extending her arms out to him. “Anything for our favorite birthday boy, am I right?” Ian released Max and stood back up, wrapping his arms around Fiona and patting her back. Her hair had grown the last time he saw her. Actually, everything about Fiona changed. She still had to tend to Liam since he was still in middle school, but she turned over a new leaf. With a new job and a healthy relationship, it’s like Fiona was unrecognizable to Ian.

“Don’t take all the credit there, Fiona,” Kevin joked, and he jerked his head to his right. “It was all his idea.” Mickey was standing off on the side, holding Isaac in his arms and grinning proudly at his husband, occasionally blushing at the mention.

“Is that right?” Ian asked, turning towards Mickey and biting down on his bottom lip to prevent himself from smiling any more – if that was even humanely possible.

Mickey put Isaac on the floor before making his way over to Ian. Wrapping his arms around Ian’s waist, he whispered, “I told you I’d make it up to you.” The couple smiled at each other before Mickey leaned up and placed a kiss on Ian’s lips. Cheers were heard throughout the room as they made contact and continued when Mickey released him and declared for the party to begin.

The party went on for about two and a half hours. Mickey had to negotiate with the adult party guests in terms of beverages, being that kids were still in attendance. It didn’t even need booze for it to be the best night Ian ever had. He got a chance to dance with everyone to the music that blasted throughout the house. Carl even brought his Playstation so everyone could play games. Occasionally, Debbie would play with Liam, Isaac, and Max when the older guests were talking amongst each other. Other times, either Max or Isaac – or even both – would sit with their fathers and listen in on what was going on.

The party was almost over, and Isaac was restlessly adjusting himself on Ian’s lap. Ian had noticed, too, and decided that it was time for the little guy to get some sleep. When Ian was about to pick him up, however, Isaac shook his head in protest. “Daddy, I wanna stay down here with you.”

Ian giggled, caressing the little boy’s cheek with his thumb. “Baby, I know you’re tired. Come on, you’ll feel better later on, and you’ll get to see everyone later on. Sound good?” Isaac pouted hesitantly before a giant yawn escaped his mouth.

Veronica grinned before reaching over and running her hand through Isaac’s black hair. “He’s adorable, Ian,” she praised.

Ian sighed as he picked Isaac up and let his head rest on his shoulder. “And a big baby, too. Kinda reminds me of Mick.” He teased, scurrying away as he noticed Mickey reach for him at the corner of his eye. Ian turned around to Mickey once he made it to Isaac’s bedroom door and smiled before rubbing Isaac’s back to get his attention. “Say goodnight to everyone, son.” He spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

Isaac lifted his head off of Ian’s shoulder for a second and waved to everyone, his eyes getting droopier by the second. “Night night,” he spoke sleepily, and everyone sans Mickey and Max wished the little boy a good night before Ian took him inside the room.

Ian took off Isaac’s clothes and replaced them with his favorite Captain America pajamas. Isaac was so tired that it made it harder on Ian to actually change him. He just looked so peaceful and comfortable laying there on his little bed, and Ian didn’t want to ruin it.

Just when Ian was about to pick Isaac up and place him under the covers, Mickey slipped in the room, closing the door before the noise made it to Isaac’s ears. “The little guy had so much energy before you came home, and now look at him,” he whispered as he watched Ian carefully place Isaac on the mattress and under the covers.

Ian chuckled. “Imagine what he would look like if we took him to Disneyland again,” he responded.

“Hell no,” Mickey said, a smile appearing on his face. “The last time we took him there, he ate so much fucking cotton candy and literally jumped in Minnie Mouse’s arms. Kinda feel bad for the guy underneath the costume.”

Ian laughed a little bit and then turned back to his son, finally fast asleep in his bed. Ian leaned over to rub a hand through his soft hair before placing a light kiss on his cheek. The sight of that always gets to Mickey every time. He loved it when Ian and Isaac spent time together just as much as he loved it when Ian showed so much affection towards him.

“What?” Mickey had been stuck in a trance and realized that his husband was addressing him once he got out of it.

Mickey bit his bottom lip. “He really is cute, ain’t he?”

Ian smiled. “He is.”

Mickey shrugged. “I’m kinda glad we got another kid, you know?”

“I love them so much, Mick. If it were possible to keep those smiles on their faces forever, I would do anything to make that happen.”

Mickey nodded, looking up at Ian as he made his way over to him. He snaked his arms underneath Ian’s and grabbed him from the small of his back so their stomachs were rubbing against each other. “I’m glad you’re happy, Ian. I’ve always wanted you to be happy.”

Ian nodded, suddenly getting a little teary-eyed at Mickey’s confessions. Before he knew it, their lips were softly grazing against each other. Ian made the first move, kissing Mickey hard and slipping his tongue in between his teeth. Mickey moaned a little at the contact, his hands moving up Ian’s back and his erection suddenly growing.

“We can’t do this here,” Ian spoke, breaking the kiss between the two.

“The little guy is asleep,” Mickey replied, gesturing towards Isaac in his bed.

“Yeah, but the party guests aren’t,” Ian reminded him. That led to the two of them inching their eyebrows at each other suggestively before going back out to the party and leaving Isaac to his slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made this story five chapters for the sake of time in my own schedule. I wanted to write this because, since around episode 1 or 2 of season 2 of Gotham, I have had this weird idea of turning Jerome and Ian into identical twins. However, I'm gonna warn you guys why I was skeptical about doing this.
> 
> I have been reading comments on YouTube, Tumblr, etc. referring to Jerome as "Ian off his medication," and while I understand that it's a joke to some, in a way, it, too, is offensive. Anyone who watches Shameless obviously knows that Ian Gallagher is diagnosed with bipolar disorder, a lifelong condition that has not only affected Ian himself, but also the people around him. In contrast, Jerome Valeska is (or was, however you put it) a kid who has been abused by his mother and was affected by the things said and done by both of his biological parents, which led to him killing them both (if you haven't seen the recent episodes of Gotham, I wouldn't recommend reading this).
> 
> Just a reminder so we're all on the same page: being bipolar and being crazy are two different things. They are not - and I repeat, not - interchangeable. I cannot stress that enough. I didn't want to offend anyone with this story, and with that in mind, I decided to not give Ian bipolar disorder in this story. Everything else, you all will find out as you read.
> 
> This was just a little PSA I decided to do. I'm not sure when the next chapter of this will be uploaded since I also have LTMH and I have to tend to real-life priorities as well. But I hope you guys will like the direction I'm taking this.


	2. The Misunderstanding

It has been almost three weeks since Ian’s twenty-eighth birthday. Things ran back to usual: the two men rushing in the morning and calling their co-workers over the phone, preparing breakfast and bag lunches for the kids, waiting impatiently for each other’s coffee to brew – the list goes on and on.

“Ian, you alright taking the kids to school today?” Mickey called to him over his shoulder as he slapped a piece of bread on top of Isaac’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“You gonna be late or something?” Ian asked, pouring his coffee into a travel coffee mug and brewing some more for Mickey.

“Early morning conference with the boss about this new company they’re thinking about funding or something like that,” Mickey responded, wrapping Isaac’s sandwich in plastic and placing it in his Spongebob lunch box.

“Another one?”

Mickey nodded. “Apparently everyone wants some validation these days.”

Ian shrugged, grabbing the travel coffee mug and deciding to give it to Mickey since he was almost this close to running. “Or they all want someone whom they can trust?” Ian suggested with a smile.

Mickey chuckled, taking the mug from Ian’s hand and walking to the living room where his bag and car keys were. “If you say so.”

Ian’s coffee was almost done, but he still had to get the kids out of their rooms. He remembered Max waking up a little bit earlier than Mickey did, but Ian hasn’t seen him out of his room since then. “Max, Isaac, you guys gotta get to school!”

The redheaded boy dragged his feet as he stepped foot into the living room with his backpack on his back. Isaac stood beside him, standing a couple of inches shorter than his brother. “You get everything you need?” Ian asked the two of them, grabbing their lunch boxes and handing them to each child.

“Yes, Daddy,” Isaac spoke. “I have all of my crayons and my coloring books and everything.”

Ian smiled, kneeling down to kiss him on his head. “That’s good, because Daddy is taking you guys to school, but we have to hurry because Daddy’s running a little late.” With that thought, Ian went back over to the coffee and poured it in another travel coffee mug for himself.

“You’re not supposed to be late, Dad,” Max spoke, folding his arms in front of him.

Mickey slipped his coat on and turned around towards the two kids. “You gotta do what you gotta do,” he spoke before putting the bag strap over his shoulder. “I’m out. Later, guys.”

“Bye bye, Papa!” Isaac called to him before Mickey shut the door and headed out to his car.

Travel mug in hand, Ian headed towards the coat rack to grab his own coat and slip it on. “Come on, boys. Coats on.” Isaac and Max made their way over to Ian and grabbed their own coats, a navy blue and red one for Isaac and a dark green one for Max. Soon enough, the three were out the door and into Ian’s car.

When Ian turned the ignition on, his eyes fell upon the gas meter and noticed that he was low on gas. He gritted his teeth, trying hard not to curse out loud with his kids in the back seat. So he just punched his steering wheel and fumbled with the hair on his head.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Max asked from behind Ian.

“I gotta go get some gas,” Ian stated, buckling his seat belt and pulling out of the driveway. Once he was on the road, he searched around for the nearest gas station. “Sorry, guys. I’ll get you to school on time, I promise.”

* * *

A few moments later, Ian found the gas station located about six miles away from their home. However, much to Ian’s dismay, all of the outdoor engines were in use. So Ian parked the car off to the side and reached into his wallet to check how much money he had on him.

“I’ll only be gone for a couple of seconds,” Ian told the boys, placing his wallet back into his pocket. “Max, watch Isaac for me, will ya bud?”

Max nodded, and Ian hopped out of the car and walked into the gas station’s convenience store. Ian, however, was unaware that the car door was unlocked when he slipped into the store to look around for a gas can.

Likewise, Isaac and Max were unaware of the familiar man that came around from the back of the car, observing the two kids playing with action figures from Isaac’s school bag. He grinned at them before he made a move to open the car door and slip into the driver’s seat. “Sorry, boys. Forgot one little thing.”

Max and Isaac’s eyes fell upon Jerome with the belief that it was his father who had returned to the car. They watched Jerome as he absentmindedly searched the bottom of the car for anything useful Ian just so happened to leave behind. With no luck, he drew his attention to the gear shift in between the two front seats, adjusting it from the park position to the reverse position.

His eyes fell upon the kids in the back seat with a grin on his face. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

He hopped back out of the car and shut the door once the car started moving backwards, leaving Max and Isaac to panic on the inside. Jerome was long gone from the scene before anyone took notice of what was happening.

Ian came out of the convenience store with his gas can and a snack for the kids. When he came back to where his car was originally parked, he noticed that the vehicle was nowhere to be found. That was when he took notice of the people looking down the street to where the car was still in motion.

“Oh shit!” Ian panicked, dropping everything to the ground as he ran towards his car.

Fear was building up in his chest. _How the hell did this happen? I put the damn thing on park, didn’t I? Are the brakes working?_ So many questions threatened to form in Ian’s mind, but his main focus was to protect his kids from danger.

But boy, were they in danger or what?

“Isaac! Max!” Ian shouted as he continued to run towards the car. “Help! Somebody help!” Ian was so desperate; tears started to form in fear of the car crashing into a building or another vehicle, in fear of both of his kids getting hurt, in fear of them facing critical injuries. They were only so young, after all. Who knows what could happen if the car crashed right now?

A blonde man was also running towards the car. He was closer to it than Ian was, and lucky for Ian, he was able to hop into the driver’s seat and take control of the wheel before the car crashed into a car parked by one of the stop light poles standing tall on the sidewalk. A dent was formed in the back of Ian’s car, but at least the kids were okay.

The blonde man turned his head around and noticed that Isaac was crying for dear life, and Max was in a state of shock. Other than that, they were not hurt.

“Don’t worry, boys,” the blonde man sighed in relief. “It looks like your dad’s coming to get you, okay?” Isaac still cried and Max bit his bottom lip out of worry and fear, and that was the blonde man’s cue to get out of the car.

Ian finally made it towards the car, opening the back seat closest to Isaac. He was strapped into the baby seat, hugging himself as he sobbed and allowed all of the tears to fall. Ian sighed in relief knowing that the two were still alive. “Oh, my God,” Ian finally spoke. “You guys are okay. Thank God –“

Just when Ian was about to unstrap Isaac from his seat, the raven-haired boy flinched away violently, and his cries got a little louder. He kept on shouting, “no! I wanna see Papa!”

Ian could feel his own heart break at the pleas. “Isaac, it’s me. You’re okay, son. You’re okay.” He made another attempt to pick his son up, but Isaac wouldn’t allow him. Isaac leaned further away to the point where his head fell sideways and his tears touched every inch of skin.

Max was silent as his eyes fell upon his father’s. Ian gazed at him, knowing that some form of rejection was going to come from Max next. “Max, please,” he cried, biting his bottom lip. Max didn’t respond, he just looked away from Ian and leaned against the car window, allowing a tear to fall down his face.

All felt hopeless at that moment. Ian had no idea on what Isaac was talking about. Ian was in the store the time the incident happened, and he would never want to hurt his own kids to begin with. The situation was too complicated to solve on the information Ian was getting, but the hardest thing of all was trying to get his own kids to trust him again. Here they were, crying their eyes off with the fear of death, and Ian couldn’t blame them. They were so little, so full of life that hasn’t been lived yet, and they needed to be safe.

Neither one of them would allow Ian to touch them, and they refused to let him drop them off at school. There was only one other option left, and Ian would do anything to try to protect his kids.

* * *

“Mr. Milkovich,” a young blonde woman called for Mickey from the doorway of the conference room, “you have some visitors waiting for you in the lobby.”

Mickey’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, wondering who the hell would bother calling for him while he was in a conference. It sounded important, from the woman’s tone in her voice, so Mickey decided to give in and see what’s up. He followed the woman to the elevator and down to the first floor of the building.

When they got closer to the area with the couches, Mickey made out two familiar heads of red hair. Ian’s head was kept down, and Max was sitting on the couch adjacent to the one Ian was on. Out of nowhere, Isaac appeared from beside Max and started running towards Mickey. The tears from earlier were still on his face. “Papa! Papa! Papa!” The little boy’s voice was off to Mickey, and he tried placing a finger on the issue at hand.

Concern taking over his facial features, Mickey knelt down and held his arms out for Isaac to run into. The youngest son gripped tightly onto Mickey’s neck and started sobbing again. Mickey picked him up off the floor and rubbed the little boy’s back.

“Hey, man. Hey,” Mickey cooed to his son in his arms, bouncing up and down in an effort to comfort him. He patted Isaac’s back and tried to get a better look at his face. “What’s been going on?”

Isaac still sobbed as he tried to verbally form the words in his head. “Daddy…” he started, followed by a couple of sniffles, “Daddy tried to kill us.”

Mickey frowned in confusion and shock from the words that came out of Isaac’s mouth. The little boy continued to cry and hide his face in the gape in Mickey’s neck. Mickey’s eyes fell upon the older redhead, whose head was still down, most likely in an attempt to hide his shame from what happened this morning.

Isaac still in his arms, Mickey made his way over to the lounging area. Max got up out of his seat and wrapped his arms around Mickey’s leg in an attempt to hide himself from Ian. Mickey placed a hand on top of Max’s head, his eyes trained ahead at Ian. The older redhead lifted his head up, and Mickey noticed how red Ian’s eyes were.

“Ian, what the hell happened?” Mickey asked firmly but with much worry.

“Mickey, it’s not what you think –“

“Ian, if this is some April Fool’s joke, you picked the wrong fucking day –“ Mickey rolled his eyes the moment he saw Ian’s arms flail around, a reminder for his husband to stop cursing around the kids. Mickey took a deep breath and looked ahead at Ian once more.

Mickey didn’t like it when Ian got this shaky. He could see his pale fingers trembling on his knee and his jaw violently quivered. “I, I don’t know what happened, Mick,” Ian explained, his voice equally as shaky, “I made sure the door was closed…or at least I thought I did –“

“How did you not know whether your door was closed or not?” Mickey asked furiously. “It’s your car!”

Ian ran both of his hands through his hair in a complete state of confusion. “I don’t know, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay!” Mickey barked back. “You’re late for work, they’re late for school, and everyone’s freakin’ out because you couldn’t control your own car.” He shut his mouth for a brief moment, running his hand through his face, tired as hell. “Did you have the gear shift on park, Ian?”

“Yes, I checked before I went to purchase the gas.”

“And you were in the store when it happened, right?”

“Yes, Mick. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Then why is Isaac telling me that you were trying to kill him?”

Ian shrugged hopelessly. “I don’t know what he’s talking about, Mickey. I would never hurt him; I love him. He probably saw someone or something else and got scared, for all I know. I would never do this to him.”

Mickey had a hard time trying to wrap his finger around this story. He was missing a good ten minutes of the conference going on upstairs because his own kids weren’t feeling safe, and his husband was on the verge of crying because they fear him. A lot was being placed on Mickey’s shoulders, and he didn’t have a clue on how to process all of this information.

The little boy in Mickey’s arms was still crying and kept his tiny arms wrapped around his father’s neck. Mickey placed a hand on the small of Isaac’s back in attempt to grab his attention. “Hey, bud,” Mickey whispered to him, his heart dropping the moment he took in Isaac’s wet face, “Don’t worry, kid. Daddy says he didn’t do it, okay? He loves you very much, son. He promises.”

Isaac didn’t believe him. His bottom lip quivered as his looked up at Mickey, and it’s clear that the fear has overtaken every other emotion he’s ever felt.

“You gotta get a move-on if you wanna make it to preschool on time, okay?” Mickey whispered, comforting him with every soft word that escaped his mouth and every soft back rub. However, the reminder of having to go to school didn’t calm Isaac down any further.

“I don’t wanna go to school today,” Isaac cried, gripping onto Mickey’s dress shirt.

“You have to go, man. Everyone’s probably over there waiting for you.”

Isaac shook his head rapidly, more tears coming down his cheeks. “No, no, no. I don’t wanna go. Please, Papa, I wanna stay with you.” The little boy continued to plea as his head fell back onto Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey sighed, rubbing Isaac’s back some more in an attempt to comfort him, despite the fact that it was rubbing off on the little boy just a bit.

Mickey looked down at noticed that Max was still attached to his leg. He bent down to meet his eye level and ruffled his hair a little bit. “You gonna be okay to go to school, Max?” Mickey asked him, and Max just shrugged.

Looking between the two boys, Mickey formed the same conclusion: he wasn’t sure if they should be out and about like that for a while. Maybe when the high from the scare died down just a little bit, then they could go back. For now, though, he wanted to make sure they were safe.

As for Ian, Mickey wasn’t sure what he should do with him, either. He needed to go to work and take care of things there, but he looks so betrayed – by his own kids, Mickey might add. It sounds bad coming from the back of Mickey’s mind, but if what Ian was saying was true and that he didn’t make that car move, then Isaac and Max’s reactions to the issue were only making Ian feel worse about himself.

Mickey placed a hand on Max’s shoulder and looked ahead at Ian. The tear Ian tried holding inside fell on its own, and Mickey could feel his own heart crack even further. “Ian,” Mickey spoke, and the redhead turned back towards him. “You’re not feeling good, and I understand why, okay?” Ian didn’t respond. “You can go home, if you want to, and just rest it off until we get to the bottom of this, alright?”

Ian bit his bottom lip and nodded with some finality. He slowly stood up off the couch, prompting Max to grip onto Mickey’s leg again. Mickey tried to move in an attempt to embrace his husband, but the kids were restricting his movements. “Come here,” Mickey calmly whispered to Ian, and Ian did as he was told. Max started to back away, releasing Mickey’s leg in the process, and Mickey started to feel bad for what was going on.

“It’s gonna be alright, I promise.” Mickey assured him before he leaned closer to Ian and planted a sincere, warm kiss on Ian’s lips. “Try to get some rest. I’ll call your boss and tell him you’re gonna take a sick day. That alright?”

Ian nodded sadly before shuffling his feet and making his way out of the building, leaving Mickey to tend to the kids.

When he made it back to his car, Ian sat in the front seat for a good five minutes, just staring ahead at the other cars parked around him. His head turned around momentarily at the baby seat in the back seat, along with one of the boys’ action figures they left behind. Ian grabbed the action figured and held it in his hand for a good fifteen seconds before he started to break down in the car, hiding his face in his arms.

* * *

Mickey left the kids in his office for a brief moment as he went to the buffet area to grab them something to drink to go with their packed lunches. When he came back, Isaac was laying down on the couch facing its back, and Max was calmly sitting on the floor, trying to work in the math workbook he got from school.

 _They look so fucking terrible_ , Mickey thought as he stood in the doorway glancing from one son to the other. He walked further in the room, placing two juice packs on the coffee table, and Max grabbed one of them, not uttering a sound.

“I know you two are scared,” Mickey spoke, sadly eyeing the two. Max’s eyes fell upon his father’s, and Isaac rolled over on the couch, wiping away the tears that were smeared all over his face. “I would be, too, if I was your age and in this predicament myself, actually.”

Truth is, Mickey wasn’t sure what he could possibly say to make them feel any better. As a father, he knew he was trying. All he could do was try.

Long ago, Mickey always believed that he wasn’t good with kids and that he would be a shitty dad thanks to the influence from his own father. Boy, did he treat Mickey like shit or what? He wouldn’t even try to give his son any sense of comfort; it was always “don’t be a fucking pussy” or “Milkoviches don’t cry” twenty-four seven. Before he met Ian, Mickey found it hard to express any other emotion besides anger. Now he was happily married with two kids who were devastated and worried out of their damn minds.

“Is Dad mad at us?” Max asked, his fingers gripping onto the edge of the coffee table.

“No, he’s not.” Mickey responded, making his way over to the couch and sitting in between the two boys. “He’s just…shaken. I think we all are, to be honest.” He paused and grabbed Isaac, placing him on his lap. “But Daddy’s right, guys. He loves you two very much. I mean, he literally begged the heck out of me just to have you guys.” Mickey was still getting used to the no-cursing thing now that Ian was gone, but he wanted to prove his point still.

“Then why did he make the car move?” Max asked, perplexed.

Mickey didn’t respond for a minute, grabbing the other juice box and placing the straw in it for Isaac. “I think this is just a whole misunderstanding,” he continued, handing the dark-haired boy his drink and making sure he didn’t spill it everywhere. “Maybe it was someone that looked like him or something like that. Either way, Ian was being honest.”

“How do you know?” Max asked, turning his body fully in Mickey’s direction.

Mickey bit his bottom lip, looking between Max and Isaac before reaching down to place his hand on Max’s shoulder. “I married him, Max,” he finally answered. “That’s how I know.”

A clear image from the past appeared in his head. It was one of the best days of Mickey’s life: the day he and Ian got married. Some members of his and Ian’s family had gathered at the alter with them as the pastor read prayers and announced remarks and such, but all Mickey could focus on was the man holding both of his hands, sporting the brightest smile on his face.

Even before Mickey made the decision to spend the rest of his life with Ian, Mickey found it easier to trust Ian with everything and anything as opposed to the other people in his life. Ian didn’t judge him for being him, and that was all the leverage Mickey needed to continue on this journey with the redheaded man.

They shared everything with each other. They told each other everything about themselves they could come up with. With each new piece of information, the two men were able to place another piece on the puzzle. They built a sense of familiarity around trust, knowledge, and honesty. That was Mickey’s favorite part about spending his life with Ian: they created a foundation for each other. Now when they attended family reunions and such, they could proudly remember each detail about each other they possibly could.

Mickey knew Ian, and Ian knew Mickey. Ian knew about Mickey’s struggles with his family, primarily related to his father and his hatred towards his homosexual son. Mickey knew about Ian’s dysfunctional family and how they struggled to make ends meet when it came to money and their parents. They knew everything up to the road that led them to create their own family. Ian was always optimistic about having his own kids, and ever since Max and Isaac were born, he did nothing but express the amount of love he had for each one. That’s why Mickey stuck with the idea of having kids. Ian was so good with them, and the smile that appeared on his face felt like it would be a permanent thing in his and Mickey’s life as long as the boys were here.

Unfortunately, with the recent turn of events that occurred this morning, that smile Mickey admired so much was no longer as permanent as he wanted it to be.

“I’ve been married to the guy for about eight or nine years,” Mickey continued, cradling Isaac in his arms as the little boy drank more of his juice and listen to the story. “When two people love each other and get married and stuff, it’s so everyone understands how much each person in the relationship trusts the other, you know?” His past self probably would have punched him in the face for saying those words, but Mickey knew they were true.

“You trust Daddy?” Isaac asked, holding the juice box in his hands and eyeing his father with a worried facial expression.

“Of course, I do,” Mickey answered, rubbing Isaac’s back. “We’ve told each other everything, even before we got married. He’s honest with me, and I’m honest with him. We made sure we were on the same page with that when we started getting into a relationship with each other. In moments that are the most meaningful or the most serious, like this, he means everything he says. I wouldn’t have married him or decided to raise you two with him if he wasn’t honest with me.”

Neither Max nor Isaac spoke this time. They kept their heads down, with their father’s words in their thoughts. Mickey ran a hand through Isaac’s hair, and the boy looked into his father’s matching blue eyes. “I know you guys were scared about what happened, and I know that you guys think that it was Daddy that adjusted the gears, but…I actually believe him when he says that he didn’t have any intentions on hurting you.”

Isaac’s face fell again. The raven-haired boy had so many conflicting feelings going through his head, and Mickey couldn’t blame him. He picked Isaac up off his lap and placed him back on the couch.

“Tell you what,” Mickey spoke again, standing up and walking towards his desk for his cell phone. “Later on when I’m done with my shift and Daddy’s feeling a little bit better, we can go home and comfort him. Maybe we can get some cookies or something from the store and hang out with him for a little bit. What do you say?”

Max nodded. “Okay.”

Mickey turned to Isaac, who pondered over it for a couple of seconds before nodding himself. “Okay.”

With a final smile on his face, Mickey turned bacl to his phone and dialed the number to Ian’s boss’s phone. There were a couple of rings before the automatic voice system came up. Mickey hung up and dialed the number again, hoping that Ian’s boss wasn’t entirely busy.

This time, there was a voice on the other end of the line, but Mickey didn’t recognize it as Ian’s boss’s voice. It was all too familiar to him for some reason, but at the same time, it sounded very sinister as well. The guy on the other end was chuckling his vocal chords out, and it creeped Mickey the fuck out. “Hello?” Mickey spoke into the phone.

The guy on the other end whispered into the phone. “You heard the man,” he spoke, “he’s unavailable at this time.”

“I just need to tell him that Ian’s gonna –“

Before Mickey had a chance to finish the sentence, Mickey heard someone else on the other line struggling. All of a sudden, a gun shot was heard, and the second voice was no longer there. Mickey’s eyes bugged out of their sockets at the sound of the firing gun in the background. “Hello?” Mickey tried again, but then the line had disconnected.

Something was wrong. Mickey didn’t have the slightest idea what was going on, but he was worried that something happened to Ian’s colleagues…and Ian. _Did he actually go to work today?_ That was all that was stuck on Mickey’s mind.

The dark-haired man paced back and forth inside his office, Isaac and Max suddenly catching onto his change in behavior. “Dad, what happened?” Max asked, suddenly concerned.

Mickey himself wasn’t sure, but he had to get to the bottom of it, especially if something of Ian’s is at risk.

* * *

Angela held her shaky hands up in surrender, trying to shield herself away from the gun Jerome aimed at her skull. She prayed hard for someone to come in and help take Jerome out of the building, but it was hopeless since Jerome wiped out all of the security cameras and murdered the security guards in the building. Why she was the one being targeted, she wasn’t exactly sure. She just hoped she could add another five years to her life, at least.

The odds of that happening looked very slim at the moment.

“I won’t ask again, old lady,” Jerome hissed at her, putting the gun off safety. “I need the address and phone number of Ian Gallagher, or you’re not getting out of here alive.”

“I don’t know where he lives,” Angela pleaded.

“Anything you have on him is fine.”

Angela knew this was going to jeopardize Ian’s life, and as much as she hated to give in, she had to in order to protect herself. Hopefully someone will warn Ian in time before something happens to him. “Okay,” she sniffled. “Okay, it’s, um, in my phone book in my desk.”

Jerome glanced up and noticed two desk drawers. He pulled each of them open, tossing all of Angela’s contents out. So far, he found some Jolly Ranchers and Angela’s wallet and decided to take some candy and money for himself. In the back of the drawer to his left, he found a light blue book and tossed it in Angela’s direction, still aiming the gun at her. “Turn to the page and hand it to me.”

As frantically as Angela could, she flipped the pages in her book until she fell upon Ian’s name. She nervously gave the book back to Jerome, watching with tears in her eyes as he placed Ian’s number into the stolen cell phone he retrieved two states back.

Angela cried. “C-can I go now?”

Jerome turned in Angela’s direction, watching her break down and laughing. “Ya see, I would grant you the favor and let you float free with your life, old soul,” Jerome spoke, pacing a bit in the area he was standing in. Angela bit her bottom lip, understanding where this was going. “But unfortunately, we live in a place where one word could spread out over a few yards and never return to its proper location.” He shrugged. “Not a lot of people in this world are trustworthy these days.”

“I won’t tell anyone anything,” Angela begged, more tears falling down her face. “I’ll do anything, I promise. Just please let me go…”

“How do I know that, Ang?” Jerome questioned with fake disappointment in his voice. “How will I know that your lips will remain sealed? How will I know you won’t go trotting around town just to fuck with me with this one chance I would be offering you?”

Angela sobbed some more, and that sinister smile appeared on Jerome’s face once again. “I can offer your freedom, if that’s what you want,” he continued. “It’s just not going to be the kind that’ll get you out of this room. And I don’t think my brother dearest would want to hear the heartless things about me that will come out of your mouth, now would he?”

Angela tried so hard to convince Jerome to let her go, but at this point, it was hopeless. She shut her eyes as her bottom lip and chin trembled.

Jerome started to keep her quiet. “Shh, don’t cry. You’ll be in a better place than this hell hole you people call earth. And look on the bright side,” he continued, “you’ll still be in the same, sacred place where all of your loved ones will soon surrender. Maybe you could give them a tour of the place. What do you say?”

As Jerome lifted the gun up to Angela’s head again, the woman started to panic at the sight of the end where the bullet would shoot out. Her breaths started to get louder, and Jerome’s smile grew wider. The moment Angela was getting ready to shout for help, Jerome pulled the trigger and sent a bullet straight through her head. Her blood exploded in Jerome’s face, and the redheaded man could only laugh in triumph.

* * *

Mickey drove as fast as he could to the Department of Family Services building where Ian worked, taking in the sight of police cars, ambulances, and news vans surrounding the perimeter. _If Ian’s in there wrapped in a damn body bag, I swear to God…_ Mickey prayed that he was at home in their bed, resting his head of the almost car accident from earlier today.

He parked his car by the curb and ran towards the entrance. Before he got there, two cops held both of his arms back. “Sorry, sir,” one of them spoke. “It might be too dangerous to go in just yet.”

“Too dangerous, my ass,” Mickey barked back. “I wanna know if my husband and his boss are in there.”

“Mickey?” He heard someone call his name.

When Mickey turned around, he spotted Zachary sitting on the edge of one of the ambulances, a white blanket around his back and a bandage to his upper arm. Mickey made his way over to the brunet, curly-haired man, trying to calm himself down. “Was Ian in there?”

“I didn’t see him all day,” Zachary replied, and Mickey released a breath of air he didn’t realize he was holding in, “but the guy that broke into the building today looked an awful lot like him.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Red hair, pale skin – stuff like that,” Zachary confessed. “All I know was that this guy just came in and turned off all of the security cameras and shot the security guards before taking everyone’s money and cell phones. Everything after that, I’m not sure why he did it or anything, but soon enough, the boss ends up dead.”

Mickey found it difficult to process this information. It was all confusing to him. Someone who looked like Ian but wasn’t Ian decided to rob people at their work? For what fucking purpose, Mickey wasn’t exactly sure. He was at least grateful that Ian was still alive and that he went home instead of went to work.

That’s when it hit him. This happened twice today – once with the kids in the car, and once with the people at Ian’s work. People have told Mickey the same thing, that someone who resembled Ian had done something bad to them. It didn’t make any sense to Mickey.

Maybe there was something Ian wasn’t telling him after all.


	3. The Separation

“Ian, we need to talk.”

Mickey came home from work earlier than usual, and it made Ian confused and worried about what he was actually going to say. The redhead was still in a deep depression from seeing his kids looking up at him like he was some kind of monster, so if Mickey was going to be upset at him about something, then Ian wasn’t in the mood to hear it.

The shorter man walked further in the room when Ian didn’t utter a word. The mattress bounced a little on top of the bed springs as Mickey plopped down on it, inching closer to his husband. “Ay, Ian, I need to talk to you.”

Ian’s mouth was almost buried into one of the pillows on the bed, so when he spoke, his words were muffled. “Not right now, Mick.”

“It’s important. Something happened today that I need to talk to you about.”

At the sound of that combination of words, Ian sat up in his bed, ready to hear the news Mickey was holding inside. “What happened?”

Mickey glanced down at his lap before he took in a long inhale. “I was trying to call your boss and everything, lettin’ him know that you were gonna be off work…” Mickey stopped for a moment.

“And?”

Mickey looked back into Ian’s eyes and sighed. “There was an emergency at your work.” Ian couldn’t process any words at the moment, but the lowering of his jaw and the deepening of his frown marks made his current emotions pretty clear. “I went up there to check and see if you actually went to work or not, and Zach said that your boss was killed.” Ian’s facial expressions went from shocked to saddened. “Someone in there had shot him.”

All Ian could do at the moment was stutter in confusion, trying to process the oncoming thoughts in his mind. “Oh, my God. Is everyone okay –“

“Zach said the guy who broke in looked just like you.”

Somewhere on the inside, Ian started to feel offended. “W-what do you mean?”

“I don’t fucking know, man,” Mickey replied. “He told me the fucker had red hair and pale skin just like you, and believe me, I was lookin’ like your rat ass: stumped as to whether or not this was some kind of –“

“D-does anything down there think it was really me?” Ian asked, worried.

“Not sure. Zach was the only one I talked to.”

Ian wished he could say that he was in relief at that moment, but he knew he couldn’t. Someone that looked like him was killing innocent people – at his workplace? It didn’t make any sense.

Mickey bit the inside of his cheek and faced Ian once again. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t really hiding something so I can clear my head of all of this.”

Ian furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean? What the fuck would I be hiding from you?” He was fully offended hearing those words come out of his own husband’s mouth.

“I don’t know, man. Like, do you know of any siblings or cousins or some shit that chopped off Barbie doll heads or burned down trees for their free time?” Flustered, Mickey ran a hand through his jet-black hair before sincerely eyeing his husband, blue eyes meeting green. “I know you, Ian. I know it sounds like I’m accusing you of some shit, but I’m not. I’m just really fucking confused here.”

“So am I,” Ian said, and then he paused for a moment. “And I would never kill anyone, either, but…I don’t know anyone in my family who would do something like this. And if someone like that exists, no one fucking told me.”

Mickey huffed. “Serves them fuckin’ right.”

They sat there for a moment before Mickey checked the time on his watch. “Shit,” he muttered before walking out of the room. He called over his shoulder, “I gotta get back to work. Manager’s assistant is watching the kids and shit.”

“Wait, you left the kids with a stranger?” Ian called to him, suddenly getting out of bed and walking into the living room with Mickey.

“I’ve known her for two years, Ian,” Mickey stated, “and I took Max to see her a couple of times, so he knows her, too. The fuck’s the problem?”

Ian’s shoulder slumped, and his hands fell into his jean pockets. “So you trust a two-year employee with Isaac but not me? Is that what we’re getting at here?”

Mickey grumbled under his breath as he ran a hand over his face. “Ian, don’t do this now –“

“No, I get it.” Ian shrugged and leaned against the wall, his eyes still on Mickey. “I fuck up one thing in my life involving my own two kids, and this is the thanks I get. Now my own four-year-old doesn’t even want to see my face again.”

“People were getting shot at your fucking office, and you’re going to sit there and think that I don’t trust your ass? I was worried about you, Ian.”

“When you were the one who told me to go home?” Ian shrugged again. “I only followed your orders, captain.”

Mickey shut his eyes for a moment, wanting to free himself from the sudden argument the two were getting into. “Jesus Christ, you’re so dramatic.” He zipped his coat up to his chest before he grabbed the car keys out of his pocket. “I talked to them, alright? I got through to them so they won’t be pissing themselves every time they keeping whining and shit about how you’re gonna roll them down a cliff until they meet their end. Are you satisfied now?”

Ian took a moment to stare at a section of flooring before he nodded. “Until I see our kids again, I will be.” Mickey didn’t move or make a response. “I just want to be sure.”

Mickey looked back at Ian with some sort of sadness in his eyes. Ian was always a man who wanted things to be done to the best of their abilities – not necessarily done _perfectly_ because, according to literally every Gallagher from that tiny household, nothing is perfect when you’re a Gallagher besides a perfect mess.

Thing is, Mickey doesn’t know what Ian has done wrong at this point. He gave up a fraction of his own sperm to create a seven and a half-year-old child that looked just like him, and he convinced Mickey to do the same to make a four-year-old look-a-like. And despite their genetic makeup, Ian still treated them like they belonged in the family and that they’re being loved unconditionally. Perfection doesn’t exist, sure; but Mickey thought Ian was perfect with those kids. He was better than Mickey himself probably would have been years back.

Ian kept his eyes glued to the floor as Mickey stepped over and lifted his chin up with his tattooed hand. Their eyes met within three seconds, and Mickey stood up on his toes to give Ian a warm kiss. “Everything is going to be fine, Ian. You have my word.” Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian, embracing him in a quick hug before he returned to the front door. “I’ll be back later on. Get some more rest.”

Once Mickey was gone, Ian just stood there against the wall for another few minutes. Ian wasn’t sure how Mickey did it every time, but he always managed to make Ian’s mood feel lighter on his gloomy days. Ian was still nervous as hell as to what his kids would do when they came home today, but he had Mickey’s words in the back of his brain to remind him every minute.

Ian pushed himself off of the wall and made his way to the couch where he plopped down and turned the television on. Two channels later, his eyes fell upon a breaking news report. The Department of Family Services building was shown on screen next to the reporter’s face as she spoke.

“There has been a robbery at the Department of Family Services office here in Chicago,” the lady began. “Five people, including an on-duty guard and the head of the company, were brutally murdered while three others were injured and have been rushed to the hospital. Police were unable to find video footage of the scene, for the security cameras were all disabled. However, witnesses inside the building have identified the criminal as Jerome Valeska, the same refugee from the Hamilton County Mental Hospital from New York.”

Ian frowned at his television screen as the image of Jerome appeared. A part of the story seemed to make a little bit of sense now. _This was the guy that almost injured my kids? This was the guy that killed my boss?_ Ian suddenly understood why people assumed that he himself was up to these shenanigans.

What Ian didn’t understand was how this Jerome guy looked exactly like him.

And that’s when Mickey’s words came back to haunt him. _I don’t know, man. Like, do you know of any siblings or cousins or some shit that chopped off Barbie doll heads or burned down trees for their free time?_ Mickey may have been right the whole time.

However, the story still didn’t make sense. He wanted the answers to all of this. With that in mind, Ian was out the door and into his car, finding his way to the old Gallagher residence.

* * *

Mickey came back to his work building, taking the elevator to the seventh floor to meet with Paula, the manager’s assistant. When he found her talking in the hallway with one of his co-workers, he got skeptical. “Ay,” Mickey called to her, and her head sharply turned in Mickey’s direction. “You kept the kids quiet in there, right?”

“Well, for as long as I could.”

Mickey furrowed his eyebrows. “The hell does that mean?”

“Your husband came to pick them up about twenty minutes before you arrived.”

If it were possible for Mickey’s eyeballs to fall out of his own face, they would be rolling back down to the first floor by now. “No, he didn’t,” he told her. “Ian’s at home. I told him to go there and get some rest, and –“

“He told me he was feeling better,” Paula replied, bewildered, “and then he said he would take the kids from here so you wouldn’t be stuck with the stress.”

Mickey ran both of his hands through his hair and paced within his little space in an attempt to not go off at Paula for what she has done. It was difficult for Mickey to maintain his composure, though; she gave away both of his kids to some stranger who looked like Ian, and now Mickey’s gonna have a hell of a hard time trying to find them.

He took a deep breath and turned back to Paula. “Did he at least say where he was going?”

Paula shook her head, innocently perplexed. “No, I don’t believe so –“

“Did you see what he had on?”

“I, uh, I don’t –“

“I need you to tell me _something_ here, Paula. I need to know where my fucking kids are and how they managed to leave out of here with someone who’s not their own dad!”

Paula placed her hands on Mickey’s shoulders to calm him down, but the fire heating up throughout his entire head wouldn’tm stop growing. “I’m sure he didn’t go far,” Paula explained. “I’ll try to locate him as best as I can.”

“Yes, please fucking do that,” Mickey barked with a hint of annoyance and anger. Paula took a couple of steps to the side to call someone up on her ear piece, and Mickey wandered around on the floor, his hands shaking from the realization that someone – a murderer – had Isaac and Max in his hands.

Ian was right all along; Mickey shouldn’t have left them with a stranger. Paula was so unreliable and untrustworthy to Mickey now.

But all of his emotions weren’t on Paula at the moment. They were on Isaac and Max – his babies, his rocks, his world – and what they were probably doing right now. Mickey wondered if either one of them had to suffer with blood on their hands just yet, but he hoped and prayed that wasn’t true. After what happened this morning with the car, Mickey didn’t need for them to get hurt in any shape or form.

Worry and fear suddenly overtook Mickey’s emotions as a couple of tears fell freely down his face.

* * *

Max and Isaac were in the back seat of a stolen car, their mouths duct-taped and their faces red. Had they known it was Jerome who had taken them from Mickey’s office and not Ian, and they would have stayed with Paula and drew more cartoons together like they had been doing before Jerome arrived.

It was too late to change things now. Jerome drove them a few miles away from Mickey’s workplace to God knows where, relieved by the fact that no cops or anyone of authority was gaining on him. For three weeks time, he roamed the Eastern side of the United States, catching up on the year and a half he had missed out on while trapped in that mental hospital. For him, life was good, but it would be even better if he got a piece of what his twin brother had gotten in Chicago, Illinois.

And that’s why Isaac and Max are here. Jerome hated his life up to this point, and he was willing to change that, one way or another.

Jerome was on the highway, taking caution as he glanced out the window every couple of seconds. People who watched the news or were affected by Jerome’s previous crimes were looking out for him, and he would be damned if someone out on the open road would pull him over and take him back to New York now. There was a little bit of traffic ahead, but that didn’t stop him in the very least.

Isaac was crying in the back seat, as was his older brother. They wanted to go back to their parents, but they had no way to defend themselves. A killer was only about a foot away from them, and he could do anything to the kids that he wanted to.

Jerome craned his head around to get a better glimpse of the two kids. “Aw, what’s all the fuss?” He reached a hand out to Max, who flinched away at the sight of Jerome’s hand.

Jerome grinned. “Don’t worry. We’ll be out of here in no time.”

Max mumbled something underneath the duct tape, but Jerome couldn’t make out what it was. His eyebrow inched on his forehead, trying to fake comprehend what the boy was saying. “What’s that, dear child?” he hissed in their direction before turning his focus back towards the road. “Why don’t Daddy get you guys a toy and some ice cream, huh?” He suggested before gripping onto the steering wheel and mumbling, “If that’ll shut you two up.”

Once Jerome was off the highway, he came in contact with a red stoplight. He stopped the car and scrolled through his phone to read the address of Ian’s home that he kept in his notes when he tracked the location of Ian’s cell phone earlier. He was only one step closer to finding his brother and carrying out his plan as successfully as possible.

* * *

When Ian knocked on the door, Fiona had unlocked it and welcomed her younger brother in with a hug. “Well hey there, stranger,” she greeted. “Haven’t seen you since your birthday party.”

Ian shrugged and smiled. “Had a lot on my plate, I guess.”

“Well, come on in,” Fiona beckoned, moving to the side to let Ian step in. “Are you hungry?”

“Nah, I ate before I, um,” Ian stuttered, the images of his moving car flashing in his head. “Before I went to work today,” he finished.

He sat down on the couch, and Fiona placed her hands on her hips, suspecting something going on in Ian’s head. “Any particular reason why you decided to come here?” she asked instead, walking around the couch to sit on the cushion with her brother.

But before Ian could answer that, they both heard the back door open. Luckily, Frank wasn’t drunk off his ass like he usually was. He actually looked a little better than the last time Ian saw him, which was strange – unless he was trying to take part in something for the money. Now that was something in the Gallagher house that would never get old.

“You will not believe the fight that happened outside the Alibi today,” he started, walking through the archway leading to the living room. “I tell ya, that whorehouse they used to run upstairs has one less customer and one more lady with a severe itch in her pants every time.”

Fiona rolled her eyes, and Ian tried hiding his snicker. “He still hangs around here?” Ian whispered.

“Unfortunately,” Fiona responded. “He refuses to go to a homeless shelter or a senior citizen’s home.”

“Hey, I heard that,” Frank called out, making his way to the chair in the corner of the room. “Here’s what you two fail to understand: this is my house. I am the king of this castle here –“

“But who still pays the water bill?” Fiona questioned, folding her arms. The battle between Fiona and Frank never ended under this roof. Ian sometimes prayed for Fiona in moments like this when Frank was acting like an ass.

Ian’s mind drifted off for a moment, and he suddenly remembered the reason why he made the trip to the old Gallagher house. “I actually needed to speak with you, Frank,” he spoke aloud for the two of them to hear.

Frank, a little taken aback by Ian’s sudden will to start a conversation with him, leaned back and put one leg over the other, keeping his eyes and ears open. “Well, what’s the fire?” he asked.

Ian gulped for a moment before he leaned forward, reaching for the remote on the coffee table and turning the television on to the news. They had to wait a couple of moments, for they were showing a commercial about running shoes and they had to wait for it to go off. Once it did, though, the image of Jerome Valeska appeared on the screen. Ian turned the volume up for both Fiona and Frank to hear.

Once Frank got a clear idea of what was going on, all he could mutter out was, “oh shit.”

Ian muted the television and turned to Frank. “Do you know anything about him?” he asked.

The room was suddenly silent. Both Ian and Fiona were waiting for answers from Frank. The older man sighed, running a hand through his face before he faced Ian again. “Your mother never gave him a name when he was born,” he began.

Ian furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, she didn’t want to have two kids at the same time,” Frank continued, folding his hands on his lap. Hearing that from Frank dropped an entire bomb throughout Ian’s body. “She was never the type of person who could raise two crying infants at once.” He paused and chuckled. “I mean, how do you think you guys turned out okay, am I right?” He teased, but neither Ian nor Fiona were laughing.

Frank composed himself for a minute and continued. “We only found out that one of you was in Monica’s womb, so when the doctor told us that there were, in fact, two of you, she was in a state of shock. She decided that she didn’t want to tell anyone about the twins swimming in her at the time. And then, about five months after that ultrasound, she went off her rockers. She was so paranoid. She thought she would be a terrible mother to you two but still wanted a newborn of her own.”

Ian grew a little sadder listening to the story, gripping onto the arm rest of the couch as he continued to listen. “You were born about four or five minutes after him,” Frank stated. “The process was a little easier with you since the pathway was a little less narrow –“

Fiona made a disgusted facial expression, and Frank gave her a shit-eating grin. “Ugh, don’t – just move on.”

“She wanted to keep you, Ian,” Frank said, turning his attention back to Ian. “Any particular reason why, I have no clue. Once she was better enough to leave the hospital, she took you with her, but left the little guy behind. She told the nurse there that she wanted to give the baby away for adoption. Kinda figured that someone else would treat him like the little prince he deserves to be.”

Ian’s eyes fell down to his lap, thinking about what Jerome was doing all these years since he was left in that hospital. Was he ever thinking about his biological mother and what she did to him? Was he ever thinking of the possibility of wanted to see the other members of his family, had Monica not given him away?

Was…was Jerome taking his anger out on Ian for being separated from the Gallagher family?

“Of course, that doesn’t seem like the case, according to the news,” Frank spoke up, gesturing towards the television.

Ian was deep in thought, trying to process this new information and trying to get the answers to unanswered questions. “Did you know at the time if he got adopted or taken out of the hospital?”

“No clue,” Frank responded. “Monica was having second thoughts about leaving the little guy in there and wanted to go pick him up, but she thought about all of this at the last minute. Once she returned to the hospital, the kid was gone. Something about a nice couple moving out of the Midwest wanting to raise him or something like that.”

To Ian, it made the least bit of sense, but he still wasn’t sure about the reason why Jerome was murdering so many people as freely as he wants to. The pieces to the puzzle didn’t seem to fit in their proper places.

“Something on your mind, pumpkin?” Fiona asked as sweetly as possible. Boy, did Ian miss that nickname or what?

“I still don’t understand,” Ian spoke up, his eyes trained to the ground. “How did he end up being so crazy after that? He’s all over the news and everything, and no one has found him yet.”

Fiona scratched her chin for a moment before she stood up and headed towards the laptop on the table. “Maybe this will help,” she responded, returning back to the couch with the device in her arms. She clicked on the search engine located on the bottom left of the screen before handing the laptop back to Ian. “What’s his name again? Jerome…”

“Valeska,” Ian finished for her.

Frank scoffed. “Pretty foreign for an American serial killer.”

Fiona and Ian glanced through the search options that popped up on the screen. Ian clicked on the earliest news article he could find and started skimming it. “Oh, my God,” Fiona spoke in horror after a moment of silence. “It says here that he killed both of his parents and set his own house on fire.”

“Why the hell did he do that?” Ian asked, shocked by this new information.

“I’m not sure,” Fiona replied, scrolling through the article to find anything else. “Police have located him in time and have taken him into custody. They have fought a horrendous battle with the twenty-six-year-old as he struggled against his handcuffs and shouted violent threats. After more testing, officials have relocated Valeska to the Hamilton County Mental Hospital, where he has remained for the past two years.”

Frank’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “So your own brother was a nut case? Where have I heard that before –“

“Frank!” Fiona scolded, placing a hand on Ian’s shoulder.

But Ian was actually curious about that. What if Frank was right, and Jerome was diagnosed with bipolar disorder? After all, two _did_ have Monica’s genetics.

“Did they say whether he had…um, what Monica has?” Ian asked nervously, and Fiona skimmed the article again.

“Nothing in the article says anything about that,” Fiona declared, and Ian sighed in somewhat relief. That still didn’t dispute the fact that Jerome, his own twin brother, was dangerous to himself and other people.

Ian’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Ian stepped into the kitchen to take the incoming call. When he glanced down at the photo of his younger self posing with a younger Mickey, he knew that his husband was on the other line. “Hello?” Ian spoke, waiting to hear what was going on.

On the other line, faint sniffling sounds were heard. “Ian…I made a terrible fucking mistake.”

Ian started to panic at the sound of Mickey’s voice. “Mickey, what happened? Talk to me.”

Mickey, sitting on the floor in his office and trying to keep himself together, gripped onto his cell phone, worried about Ian’s reaction to the news he was going to give him. “He…he took the kids, Ian.”

Shocked was the understatement of the day for how Ian was feeling. Jerome was actually at Mickey’s workplace and took the kids? How did he even know where Mickey was? “W-what do you mean, he took the kids?” Ian wasn’t sure if he should be mad at Mickey for leaving them there alone, or upset that Jerome has been onto his family this entire time without Ian realizing it. “Mickey, what the fuck?”

“The bitch from work said she saw you and that you told her that you were doing fine before she handed the kids to him,” Mickey explained, more tears falling down his face. “But she didn’t know it wasn’t you, Ian, and now…” Mickey took a long pause as he continued to sob.

Fiona abandoned the laptop on the coffee table and headed into the kitchen to grab Ian’s attention. “Ian, what’s going on?” she asked, concerned.

Ian covered the phone with his free hand so he could whisper to Fiona. “Mickey went back to work today, and both of the kids are gone.”

Fiona’s eyes bugged out of their sockets. “What? How?”

“I don’t know,” Ian confessed before bringing the phone back up to his ear. Mickey was still a crying mess, and as much as Ian wanted to stay mad at him, he also had to be there for them. There’s a chance that Isaac and Max aren’t too far away and that they’re still alive. They could do this if they tried. “Mickey,” Ian spoke to his husband on the other line. “Just – stay calm. I’ll look around some and see if I can call the police. We’re gonna get them back, I promise.”

Mickey couldn’t have felt more grateful than he was at that moment. Not just for the fact that Ian was willing to do something about this, but also for the fact that Ian wasn’t reacting the way Mickey predicted he would. Mickey will admit that he can be stubborn at times and that he doesn’t think rationally at others, but when it came to his kids and Ian, all he wants is to have everything in order. And yeah, Ian was probably mad as hell at him now, and Mickey hated that with all of his heart, but Isaac and Max were Ian’s kids, too. Mickey knows how much Ian would do for them.

“Mickey?” Ian spoke, trying to get a response out of the older man.

The dark-haired man sniffled and gulped down a huge lump in his throat. “I’m so sorry, Ian,” he said, sounding smaller than usual. “Ian, I am so fucking sorry –“

“Hey, hey, hey,” Ian spoke softly and sweetly for Mickey to hear. “Shh, it’s going to be fine. We’re going to find this guy, take the kids back, and get him to the authorities. Just stay calm for me, Mick. We can do this.” There was a pause in the conversation before Ian walked back into the living room for his coat, with Fiona following closely behind. “I’m at Fiona’s right now, and I’ll be out the door in a second. We found out who the guy was. Turns out, he is my twin, apparently.”

Mickey wiped a couple of tears off his face. “Please just find him, Ian. I need this fucker off my radar.”

Ian smiled. “I’m going, okay? Keep calm, Mick. I’ll see you later.” He hung up and placed his phone in his pocket, reaching for his coat and slipping it back on.

Fiona folded her hands in front of her. “You sure you’re going to be okay, Ian?” she asked, a little worried about what he was going to do.

“I’ll be fine, Fiona. I promise.”

Once his coat was snug on him, he turned around and gave Fiona a tight hug. They stayed like that for two minutes before Ian headed back to the front door. “I’ll call you when I get them back.” And with that, Ian was out the door.

Frank sighed, standing up from his seat and heading to the kitchen. “It’s crazy what people do that get them in shitty dilemmas like this,” he mumbled.

Fiona folded her arms and watched the man grab a beer. “Sounds an awful lot like you,” she sassed.

Frank dismissed her comment with a hand wave. “Don’t pity yourself.”

* * *

Jerome had successfully made it into Ian and Mickey’s home through the basement door, thanks to the spare key that was left underneath the mat back there. He and the kids had been in there for hours, with Jerome waiting for Ian to return home. Max and Isaac still had duct tape on their mouths, and they were sitting in the wooden chairs in the basement Jerome tied them to, their backs against each other. This time, they were quieter, at Jerome’s demands, fearing the gun that he possessed in his hands.

On the other side of the room, Jerome was skimming through some of the old family photos he found in a box underneath the tool table. For the past few minutes, he had been drawing marks all over the faces of the people in those pictures – Ian and Mickey at a Fourth of July picnic with the Gallaghers, Ian posing with Max’s birth mother, Ian and Debbie sitting with a five-year-old Max in their laps.

Jerome hated it all so much. He was sick of seeing the happiness that his twin brother got to have all these years. If he could reverse time and change everything that has happened, he would do it after glancing at all of the photos he found.

Isaac was still faintly crying behind him, and that was when Jerome was starting to have enough. He grabbed the teddy bear and the gun sitting off on the side before slowly walking back over to the kids. More tears formed in their eyes as he came closer to them. Jerome eyed both of them with not a hint of mercy in his soul. Twenty seconds later, he held the teddy bear up to Isaac’s face, slowly caressing the little boy’s cheek. He still didn’t stop crying, but it was quieter than it was initially.

Then, out of nowhere, he pulled the bear away and replaced it with the black gun in his other hand. The open end was pressed against Isaac’s cheek, and the little boy started to cry a little bit louder. A sick smile appeared on Jerome’s face as he lowered the gun again, watching Isaac’s face get redder from the scare of the weapon.

Jerome walked away from the kids and grabbed a couple of clothes he stole from his brother’s closet, changing into them behind the stairs. Once he was done, he placed his other clothes into a black plastic bag, throwing the bag underneath the table where he was originally sitting.

Max had turned his head to see what was happening. Jerome made his way back over to the kids, his hair a little messier than he had it before. He ran his hand through Max’s hair, much to his reluctance, and smiled. “Time to give ‘em a show, shall we?” he whispered, a couple of deep laughs escaping his throat. His laughs got a little bit louder, and Max started to cringe at the apparent insanity Jerome was displaying.

Jerome suddenly stopped laughing when he heard a noise come from upstairs. He kept his eyes on both of the kid, placing his index finger over his lips as he held the gun in his other hand. Max and Isaac, as scared as they were, obeyed his orders, hoping and praying that they won’t die an early, painful death.

Jerome strolled on over to the light switch and turned the lights off in the basement after hiding the gun underneath the shirt he took from Ian’s closet. That was when he started to slowly head up the stairs and creep out of the basement and into Ian’s office area, leaving Max and Isaac tied up and teary-eyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More about Jerome might be explained in the next chapter, because there still are some things that Ian (and Mickey) very well doesn't understand. And all of this will be revealed in an epic showdown between the two boys in this chapter. Thank you all who have reviewed on this story so far. I'm glad you're enjoying it. :)


	4. The Showdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read on, just know that this chapter is very disturbing and might give off some disturbing mental images. I'm letting you know of this now so I won't surprise you too much.

Mickey was starting to feel hopeless. It had been hours since Ian called him and told him that he was looking for the kids, and Mickey could only think about what Ian’s twin brother had done to the two of them. Or how far they actually were from Chicago by now. Hell, they could be in Indiana, for all Mickey knew. He just wanted to reunite with them, hold them as close as possible, and never let go.

It was getting later and later. His boss spotted him in the office at one point after Mickey’s phone call with Ian and suggested that he should take the rest of the day off. But Mickey couldn’t take the day off; he needed to find his kids and make sure they were still in one piece.

Unfortunately, hours after he left the office and went on a city search for them, he gave up.

Bitter didn’t even top what Mickey was feeling before he stepped foot into the Alibi for a drink. Kev and Vee would often ask him what was wrong or try to cheer him up, but Mickey wasn’t going to get any cheerier if he didn’t have Max and Isaac in his arms.

So he drank – not too much to give him brain damage, but not too little so it would make him remember the terrible day he had. Mickey needed that burn on his tongue. He missed it. Ever since he had kids, he stopped drinking to prove himself – or maybe his father; he wasn’t sure – that he could be a good father. Now that Max and Isaac were in the hands of a criminal, Mickey didn’t know what to think. With each drop of liquor that entered his system, he asked himself, _am I really a bad father?_

Kev and Vee got skeptical about Mickey driving home due to the number of drinks he had, so Kev agreed to drive him there, much to Mickey’s reluctance. By the time they arrived at the house, Kev parked the car in Mickey’s garage, bidding the shorter man a farewell as he returned to the Alibi.

The lights were dim inside the house. Once Mickey stepped into his home, he noticed that only the bathroom and master bedroom lights were on, along with the lights in Ian’s office near the back of the house. Mickey threw his keys in the bowl sitting on the little table by the front door and removed his coat and placed it on the coat rack.

He strolled through the living room for a bit, looking around as he called, “Ian? You back?” There was no response, so Mickey made his way to Ian’s office.

Mickey’s vision was a little blurred from the alcohol still in his system, and he stumbled a little as he walked, but he tried his best not to fall on the floor. When he made it to Ian’s office, he noticed the redhead – or what he presumes as the redhead – sitting at his desk looking through some files.

Jerome, dressed head to toe in Ian’s clothing, turned his head when he felt Mickey’s presence. “You’re back late,” he spoke casually with a hint of concern.

Mickey ran a hand over his face from the sudden weakness he felt throughout his body. “Any luck on the kids?” he asked. He tried not to get too emotional about it, but it was hard since his emotions were slipping through his system with the seven or eight glasses of beer he consumed.

Jerome shook his head, faking the remorse he displayed for Mickey. Then again, it’s not like Mickey noticed too much. “I checked everywhere – the school, the park, the toy stores – nothing.”

Mickey felt his heart drop in his chest as he nodded. He started to turn around and head towards the kitchen. He heard Jerome-as-Ian call him, “help yourself to some water. You don’t look so good.”

 _Understatement of the year_ , Mickey wanted to say, but he didn’t have the energy in him to say it.

Once Mickey made it to the kitchen, he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, along with some leftover Chinese food he and Ian were eating the other day. Mickey was about to heat the food in the microwave when he froze, hearing something that sounded like it was far in the distance. Maybe it was the booze talking, but he could have sworn that he heard some children crying.

Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose and tried getting out of his own thoughts. However, the more he paid attention to that noise that was ringing in his ears, the more he wanted to investigate it. He placed the leftovers and the water bottle on the counter and slowly walked through the house, getting closer to the source of the cries.

He stopped when he reached the basement door, and he placed his ear against the door, the cries sounding clearer than previously. Mickey opened the basement door and walked down the steps, holding the railing so he won’t fall down.

Was he really sober, or was this a dream? Mickey really wanted to know. The moment he came to the last step, he looked around in the darkness. Somewhere near the far end of the room, he noticed two kids tied down in chairs with duct tape on their mouths and tears all over their faces.

“Isaac?” Mickey called for good measure. “Max?”

Their pleas got a little louder as they recognized their father’s voice, and Mickey couldn’t have felt more grateful in his life. He rushed on over to the boys in distress, getting down on one knee as he investigated the trauma in their faces.

“Oh, my God,” Mickey spoke breathlessly, wiping the tears off of Max’s face with his thumb. Isaac fussed with the rope he was tied to, making attempts to kick his little feet to free himself, but it was no use. “Hold on, baby. I got you.” Mickey’s eyes fell down to Isaac’s feet as he tried untying the rope.

As Mickey tended to the rope that held Isaac down, Max looked ahead at the silhouette standing by the basement stairs. More tears started to fall as he noticed Jerome come towards Mickey with a wooden hammer in his hands, his devilish smile making another appearance. Max tried his hardest to warn Mickey that Jerome was behind him, but Mickey didn’t catch his words.

One of Isaac’s feet were free when Mickey turned back to Max, noticing how off he looked. He started to ask him what was wrong before Jerome used the hammer to hit the back of Mickey’s head, knocking him out instantly. When they noticed that their father wasn’t moving, Max and Isaac continued to scream, their mouths still duct-taped.

Jerome looked up at the two kids in front of him. “Breathe, kids. The show hasn’t begun just yet,” he croaked, still grinning at the two as he caressed Isaac’s face. “This is only the preview.”

He knelt down beside Mickey’s lifeless body as he tied Isaac’s foot back up. “Keep your hands and feet on the vehicle at all times, and, without further ado,” he recited, standing back up and extending his arms, “enjoy the ride.” Jerome’s laughter suddenly echoed throughout the basement, only making Max and Isaac cringe with fear and sadness.

* * *

Ian arrived home about twenty minutes later, his shoulders slumped as he searched his coat pocket for his keys. He searched every nook and cranny in town for Max and Isaac but came up empty-handed.

To Ian’s surprise, the house was dark and empty inside. “Mickey?” he called throughout the house, but he didn’t receive an answer. Ian would think that Mickey would call him on his cell phone and tell him where he was, providing Ian with some indication on whether there was any progress or not.

Ian took his phone out of his pocket and started calling Fiona. “Fiona?” he spoke into the speaker once he heard Fiona’s voice on the other line.

“Any luck?” she asked him with concern.

Ian shrugged. “Unfortunately, no,” he sighed, leaning on each foot at a time. “I think I’m just gonna call the police and tell them about it.”

Fiona sighed. “I’m sorry, Ian. I don’t know how this could have happened.”

“It’s a mystery to me, Fiona.”

They were silent for a moment before his eldest sister continued. “Well, I hope they’ll be able to track Jerome down and find the kids. If not –“

“I don’t wanna think about that,” Ian interrupted, knowing exactly what she was going to say.

Fiona hummed. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later on. Call me if you need anything.” She paused. “Oh, and Ian?” Ian hummed back. “Be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you, either. I don’t know what I would fuckin’ do with myself if I saw you in a body bag.”

Ian nodded. “I will. Thanks, Fiona.”

As the two siblings bid their farewells, Ian hung up and started to put his phone in his pants pocket when he heard footsteps behind him. He froze where he was as he heard an all too familiar voice. “Why, why, yes,” the voice called from the kitchen, “I think the police would be up for a couple of laughs.”

Ian’s heart started racing. How Jerome got into his house, he wasn’t sure, and it freaked him the hell out.

He slowly turned around and spotted a silhouette of a man standing in his kitchen. Jerome took a couple steps forward out of the shadows and revealed himself with a sinister smile on his face. “You wanna do this, Ian? You know, raise the curtain?” He started to laugh, and all Ian could do was stare back in horror and anger.

“Where the fuck are my kids?” Ian asked after a couple of seconds. “What did you do to them? Why do you have my clothes on? How the hell did you –“

Jerome held an index finger up to his mouth, and Ian immediately stopped interrogating him. “They’re fine,” he replied simply, and he frowned with fake sympathy. “Let’s not add any more stress; I’m sure your bones are ready to crumble and fall at this point.”

Ian felt his blood boil underneath his skin. “I want to know where my kids are. Where did you leave them?”

Jerome held a hand up. “Not so fast…” He paused, eyeing his twin brother with some sort of envy. “Gallagher,” he finished, a bitter tone in his voice. “Slow and steady wins the race, obviously. Besides…” He paused again, his eyes falling on every object he could see from where he stood. “I need time to admire the place. Looks like you took the opportunity to make yourself comfortable, I see.”

Ian gulped. He was nervous as hell as to what Jerome had planned on doing with him and his family. All he wanted was to have Max and Isaac back at his side. And Mickey as well – _oh God, did he take Mickey, too? Is that why he’s not home yet?_ Ian had so many questions in such a short amount of time.

“Jerome,” he muttered out timidly, “I know you, okay? I-I know that you’ve been in so much shit while I’ve been out here living my own life. I get it.”

The man before him folded his arms defensively. “Do you really, Gallagher? Do you?” he asked, and Ian didn’t say anything afterwards.

They were silent for a minute before Jerome spoke again. “Let me tell you a story, Ian. See, my mother and my father are very successful performers. The mother will whale out a C-minor; the father will see into the future.” He nodded, and Ian did as well, paying more attention to the story.

“I was only nine years old when I saw my future. You wanna know what I saw?” Ian gulped again. “I saw cold-hearted whore who showed no love for anyone. Every night, she would invite some skeeze over to have endless intercourse that usually began or ended with one of those drunk bafoons beating the crap out of me. It was a show away from the show.”

So information was being poured out at once, and Ian was shocked to hear everything that Jerome has gone through, despite the fact that, yes, he still wants his twin brother to get what he has coming to him.

Jerome strolled over to the table where he spotted a box of crayons and a stick figure drawing of Ian’s family, most likely drawn by Isaac. “One night, this man – all bone and no flesh – was at his worst. He drank and drank until he couldn’t feel the division of his own cells any longer. He took the tall lamp in our living room and struck me with it several times before I was out like a light.”

Ian felt the sweat creep on him from his hair lining. Jerome came from an abusive childhood where his mother cheated on his father with other men, and she and the man she would have sex with would abuse alcohol and beat on Jerome as a kid. No wonder why Jerome was so furious and in this predicament.

But that still didn’t explain why Jerome felt he had the need to kill people.

“I woke up later that evening, and my mother is there, curled up on that wrinkly, old couch like the pathetic slut she is,” Jerome continued, taking a blue crayon out of the box. “She’s just as equally drunk as her flavor of the week was. I get up and try to grab her attention, and all she says to me is…” He paused, slowly looking back at Ian. “Jerome, can’t you be any more useless?”

Jerome dropped the crayon on the table and walked over to Ian, who started to back away, scared of what he was going to do. “And do you want to know what my dad had to say in response, Ian?” he asked with a frown on his face. “My old man – _literally_ , my old man – stands as straight as possible with a cane in hand and says…this world doesn’t care about you or anyone else, Jerome.” His voice was very gruff as if he was speaking in his adopted father’s voice.

No one spoke up, and the only sound that could be heard in the room between them was Ian’s heavy breathing at the eeriness of Jerome’s presence.

“It’s amazing, right?” Jerome asked, suddenly laughing in a way that made the hairs on the back of Ian’s neck stand up. “No one cares.” He continued to laugh, and Ian started to bite his bottom lip. “Our mother, Ian – our biological mother – especially didn’t care, now did she? _Honor thy mother and thy father_ , they said. Meanwhile, I’m sacrificing my entire fragile fucking body for the one woman who would rather fornicate with other men for hours on end instead of raising her own son and tending to her own husband.”

“Jerome –“

“Let me guess,” Jerome interrupted. “This is the part where I’m supposed to soak into your fake advice, right? This is the part where I’m supposed to listen to you say something along the lines of _it’s in the past_ or _we can move past this_ , right?”

“No, I –“

“You can move past this, Ian. _You_ can, not me,” Jerome continued. “I could have had what you had. I could have had all of this. But no, we can’t both have good things, am I right? Our mother isn’t what you make her out to be, Ian. She abandoned me, didn’t give two shits if I died in that home in New York.”

“Monica isn’t who you think she is, Jerome. She’s sick.”

“Aren’t we all, Ian?” He paused, and the smile creeped on his face again. “Aren’t we all just…a little…sick in the head?” He made animated movements with his fingers, and his eyebrows furrowed as the smile grew on his face. Ian’s heartbeat started to pick back up. “You should know, since, you know…you’ve had the opportunity to, uh, bask in the glory of so-called _Monica’s_ insanity.”

Ian frowned. “You don’t have the right to talk about her like that. You don’t even know her.”

“We came from the same spectrum, Ian. Say I don’t know her all you want, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re both the same,” Jerome continued. “We’re both exactly the same. Same hair color, same skin color, same DNA, same blood… The only thing that separates us…is our souls. People see me in one of your familiar landmarks and don’t even take the time to wonder if it’s really you or not.”

Jerome reached behind him to the back pants pocket, retrieving a knife with a large blade and bringing it into view. Ian’s eyes bugged out of their sockets, and Jerome’s grin returned. “That is, until they know of our actions and intentions.”

“You can’t do this,” Ian spoke, scared out of his mind.

“Any reason why? I’m about five seconds close to doing so.”

“You’re going to get caught, Jerome. They’re gonna come and find you.”

“Nah, they won’t know where I’ve gone,” Jerome responded. “They _will_ , however, find you, lying helplessly on your cheap, ten-dollar rug, bleeding your heart and blood vessels out completely. And you wanna know what will happen next?” He leaned closer to Ian’s ear and whispered, “they will see me as the hero. It’s like I said, Ian; we’re both the same.” He laughed lowly. “They will not know the difference between the weak and the strong when it comes to us.”

Ian stood still for a couple of minutes, his mind racing as he tried to find ways to get himself out of this situation. He could reach into his pocket again and call Fiona, but then Jerome would either snatch his phone away or stab him in the arm. He could beg for mercy or a second chance, but with the way things were going now, he wasn’t sure if he would get a second chance.

And then he thought about his husband and his kids. He thought about the first time he met Mickey. They were only so little, playing on their school’s baseball team. Of course, with Mickey’s inappropriate behavior back then, he didn’t stay on the team for that long. Despite that, Ian found Mickey to be a really interesting person – and very intimidating. But he wanted to see and spend much time with him as possible.

That’s when he introduced himself, and Mickey did the same. Since that day, they have been inseparable. They would smoke blunts under the bleachers after school, hang out at the baseball field and drink booze, maybe fuck each other under the stars – you name it.

Mickey lived by his father’s morals, and that’s why Ian and Mickey never made their relationship an official one, nor did they ever discuss whether they were still friends or something more than that. Mickey was scared back then, scared of his father breathing down his neck and beating him senselessly for doing such things as holding hands with another guy or having another guy’s dick up his ass.

That day came true at one point in Ian and Mickey’s relationship, and that was the last day Ian ever stepped foot in the Milkovich residence. Mickey never visited Ian after that, and Ian decided to give up on the idea of their relationship going farther than that.

And then Mickey’s father got arrested for life five or six months later. It was unexpected for Mickey to show up at the Gallagher residence late at night, drunk off his ass and trying to start over with Ian, but at the same time, he was still processing it the way he usually did.

Ian remembered that night all too well. That was the night when Mickey spilled everything he felt about the redhead. He told Ian that he came out to his father before he got arrested. He confessed to Ian how he felt the boulders being taken off his back, freeing him from this hell hole he’s been trapped in for all these years. He literally crawled up the back steps, wanting Ian’s love and forgiveness, and Ian could feel the gods giving him another chance. He found freedom, and he wanted to share it with the guy he loved.

So their relationship continued on from that day to now. They’ve been boyfriends for a couple of years before Mickey proposed to Ian, and that’s how they ended up here. They ended up here because Mickey fought for Ian. His dad would have wanted otherwise, but Mickey would rather take the risk in getting beat up than living a lie for the rest of his life.

It was time for Ian to return the favor. Mickey did so much for him – confess his love, hang out with him, understand him when no one else did, marry him, have kids with him – Mickey did everything. Mickey and his kids mean everything to Ian, and he’ll be damned if he has to give it all away because his brother was out to kill him.

Ian quickly thought back to his ROTC training he did in high school. All these years, and he still remembered the defense mechanisms he was taught. Ian twisted the arm that contained the knife so Jerome couldn’t stab him, and then Ian kicked him in the chest, sending Jerome down to the ground. Ian sat on top of him and tried to grab the knife, but Jerome held it out of his reach, making another attempt to stab him. Before they knew it, they were both fighting each other on the living room floor.

Jerome shoved Ian off of him and started to run, the knife still in his hand. However, Ian caught up to him, taking a vase and throwing it at his head. The vase broke into tiny pieces against Jerome’s head, and he stumbled forward a bit before Ian pounced and grabbed him once again. Jerome struggled against Ian’s hold, and Ian gathered all the strength in him to remove Jerome’s fingers from off the knife handle.

Ian thought he had a good chance, but Jerome whirled around and punched Ian in the face, giving him a good dark mark underneath his eye. Lucky for Ian, he still had the energy to get back up and fight. His fist and Jerome’s cheek collided with each other, sending the other man back down to the ground. Jerome choked Ian’s neck as Ian sent another punch to his face. One kick in between Ian’s legs, and he was sent back instantly.

Jerome started to take the knife and lower it to his chest, but Ian pushed Jerome’s forearm away, struggling against the strength in his twin brother’s arm. They rolled over on their sides, and Ian took this as the opportunity to punch him again. Two more punches and a kick, and Jerome’s grip on the knife loosened. Ian immediately grabbed the phone and ran towards his office to find the house phone.

When Ian grabbed the phone, he dialed 9-1-1 and waited for the dispatcher’s voice. “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Ian gave the dispatcher his address. “Jerome Valeska – he’s my twin brother, and he’s trying to kill me and my –“

Before he got a chance to finish his sentence, he heard the other man storm in the room, and once again, the two brothers were fighting it out. Ian was back on the floor, with Jerome towering over him. The original knife was in Ian’s left hand, but Ian spotted another knife in Jerome’s pants pocket. He wanted to make a move to reach for it, but he knew that Jerome would try to stab him if that happened.

So Ian kicked Jerome in the stomach and stood back up, throwing more punches his way. He ran out of his office and back to the kitchen near the basement door, tossing the knife that was in his hands into the sink. Jerome charged after him, pushing Ian against the basement door that busted open suddenly from the strength in Ian’s back. Ian started to hold on to Jerome’s arms so he wouldn’t fall, but he could feel Jerome trying to shove him down the stairs. Luckily, Ian was able to turn them both around, pushing Jerome down the steps with all the strength he had.

All of a sudden, he heard muffled cries coming from the darker areas of the basement. It sounded like little child cries, and he knew that Isaac and Max were both down there. Somewhere in the background, Ian heard a deeper male voice, too. It sounded like Mickey.

Jerome regained the energy to stand up after tumbling down so many stairs. His back, arms, and legs felt a little weak, but that didn’t stop him from going through with the plan. His smile appeared on his face again as he started backing up further in the basement. Ian followed him down, turning on the light as he did so.

When he made it down, and he could get a clear idea of what was happening, he saw Jerome take a gun from out of his pants and aim it at Mickey. The knife that was in his back pocket was now inches away from Isaac’s neck.

Ian could not believe what he was seeing. Mickey had been here the whole time, unaware that Jerome was up to his conniving tactics, and Isaac and Max have been held hostage for hours without food or care. He could see from here how the kids’ faces were incredibly red, almost redder than Ian’s hair. Ian hated seeing his kids looking like that, especially Isaac, who was trying to kick his little legs free from the hold the rope had on him.

And Mickey – good God, Mickey – he looked almost as bad as the boys did. His eyes were combined with sadness and weakness, and all Ian wanted to do was to save him so he could kiss him on the head and tell him everything would be alright.

“I wouldn’t step any closer, Red,” Jerome spoke, both weapons still aimed at Isaac and Mickey, respectively. “You’d be making the decision on who gets to die first in this house, and trust me, we wouldn’t want that, would we?"

Jerome was sick. He was sick in his eyes, the way he smiled, the way he laughed – he was all-around sick. Ian didn’t know how to get through to him.

“Jerome, leave them alone,” Ian tried, but Jerome didn’t move.

“You’re not giving me a good-enough reason, Gallagher,” Jerome responded. “Sure, you can always say bull like _they mean the entire world to me_ – excuse my French – but what does it mean to me, Gallagher? What does saving them for you do for me? As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have anything left to lose, so you’re not really helping me benefit from this in any way possible.”

Ian gulped. “We could get you help, Jerome. You can turn away from this. You don’t have to –“

“And send me back to that filthy hospital in New York? I don’t think so,” Jerome interrupted. “It’s too late for me, Ian. I can’t have anything good in this world unless it’s going to get taken away from me. And, you know, not everyone in this world is innocent. Not even you. Give me a good reason that you need these rascals and your sack of bottom in your life.”

Jerome suddenly heard Mickey angrily muffle something underneath the tape, and he straightened the angle of his arm so the gun was point directly at his eye from afar. “Simmer down, old chap,” Jerome told Mickey. “Your turn will come eventually.” He began to laugh again, causing Mickey to grimace from his seat in the corner.

Ian flinched forward in an attempt to stop Jerome, but he stopped again once Jerome brought the knife closer to Isaac’s neck and took the safety off the gun he was holding. Isaac cried a little louder, and Ian swore he could hear him say, “Daddy!”

Jerome gazed down at Isaac and back to Ian. “He’s a little fighter, don’t you think?” He chuckled as he caressed Isaac’s cheek with his thumb. “Little fucker was a screaming mess when I found him. Poor thing was left with a stranger, wasn’t he?” Ian’s frown got deeper with every word Jerome said.

Jerome’s eyes fell back to the little boy’s, leaning closer to him under their faces almost collided. “What do you say, baby boy? Wanna show Daddy what we rehearsed?” A bone-chilling laugh left Jerome’s mouth as the blade connected with Isaac’s skin, causing the little boy to scream from the pain.

Ian’s face saddened the moment he saw blood trickle from Isaac’s helpless little body. “Isaac, stay calm. Don’t move.”

Mickey was watching from afar, unable to see the blood from Isaac’s neck from where he was sitting. His frown deepened as he heard his blood son shout as Jerome threatened him with the knife. He struggled against the ropes that were holding him down, realizing that the ones tied to his wrists were loose. With a couple more tugs, both of his hands were free. That was when he untied his feet and stood up from the chair.

Jerome turned his head slightly and noticed Mickey was standing up. He aimed his gun at him, but Mickey ducked in time just to shove Jerome to the ground and punch him in the face. At one point, Mickey kicked Jerome, and Jerome lost his grip on the gun that slid across the basement floor.

While the two fought each other, Ian rushed over to Max and Isaac, taking the rope off of their limbs and removing the tape from their mouths. Max automatically grabbed onto Ian, as did Isaac, as tears fell from their faces. “Go,” Ian warned them, pointing to the basement stairs. “I need to get you out of here. Go!”

All of a sudden, Ian felt a punch in the face and was sent flying back to the ground. Jerome whirled around and kicked Mickey in the abdomen, sending him down as well. Both men lay there as Jerome chased after the children, but only for a second. Ian started to get up and run up the stairs and into the living room where Jerome grabbed Max before he even made it to his bedroom.

“Dad! Dad, help!” Max called as he saw Jerome reach for the knife he retrieved from the basement, running it over Max's arm.

Ian charged towards Jerome and grabbed his arm, keeping it at least seven feet away from Max as possible. Both Ian and Jerome were back at it with the fighting again, Jerome trying to stab Ian and Ian trying to get away from the blade.

Mickey came up the stairs momentarily, holding Jerome’s gun in his hand and aiming it at the twins. “Max, in your room. Now.” The youngest redhead left the room, leaving all of the older men behind.

Both Ian and Jerome turned to face Mickey, who was holding the gun up. “Jerome, let him go,” he demanded forcefully. Neither Jerome nor Ian moved or said a word. “I said let him the fuck go!”

“Can’t do that, Mick,” Jerome spoke, choking Ian with his arm as he stared Mickey down. “I know you’re going to shoot me, so just do it. Do it, and send the both of us out of our misery. You can’t have two halves without a whole, and we’re a whole lot of trouble you’re causing yourself here. I could let him go now, but you’ll just shoot me, won’t ya? You’re not as strong and resourceful as you think you are, you know? You’ll only end up in prison where you will rot for as long as I have in that damn facility back there. And your boy toy here?” He choked Ian a little bit harder, and Ian struggled against his hold. “He won’t want to show his face around you again. Then we’re all just even, right?”

Mickey frowned. “You’re fuckin’ sick.”

“Right. And I’m a Shakespearian actor,” Jerome spoke with sarcasm. He grinned as he felt Ian struggle underneath him. “So…what’s it gonna be?”

Mickey started to panic as he noticed Ian trying to fight for air. He need to shoot Jerome and get it over with, but he knew that if he did, Jerome would end up killing Ian along with him.

All of a sudden, the three heard police sirens outside of the house. There was a man over a speaker that shouted, “Chicago P.D. Come out with your hands up!”

Jerome cocked an eyebrow on his forehead and smirked. “Lookie here,” he said, turning his head slightly towards the door. “I wonder who that could be.”

Ian could feel himself gain some breath once Jerome’s grip slightly loosened, and he gutted him in the stomach with his elbow, causing Jerome to stumble back. Ian ran as quickly as he could to avoid Jerome’s grasp, and once he had a clear shot, Mickey pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through Jerome’s stomach.

Ian opened the front door, calling out to the police that Jerome was inside, and two of the cops came inside, noticing the Jerome and Mickey scene before them. “That’s him,” Ian said, pointing to the redhead, and the cops held their guns up, unaware that there was a bullet wound in Jerome’s stomach.

“Ah, yes,” Jerome sighed, the pain spreading throughout his entire body. “It’s me, the main attraction…” His voice got weaker, and he fell back, his eyes still directed ahead. He was now staring at the ceiling as he watched his life being taken away. He had coughed up some blood on his way down, and the cops started calling the people from the ambulance inside. Unfortunately, time wasn’t giving Jerome a chance.

Mickey stood there with horror spread all over his face as he watched Jerome slowly die out on their living room floor. Ian ran over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, biting his bottom lip as he observed his twin brother on the floor.

“Once you get your ticket…there’s no way out…” Jerome uttered out, sensing his final words creep onto him. The blood that came from Jerome’s mouth was spread out on his lips and down his face. “Here I am, world. Here I…” Before he got a chance to finish his sentence, his face froze, indicating the exact moment of his death.

Ian gripped onto Mickey as he kept his eyes on Jerome’s corpse. Mickey grabbed Ian’s hand with his free hand, shaking from the trauma his family had witnessed that night. As much as they were blessed to be alive with their kids right now, Jerome’s death shook their nerves completely, sending them in an overwhelming state of shock.

A couple of doctors made their way through the house, some to take Jerome’s body to a lab, and others to take the kids to see a pediatrician about their scars. Mickey and Ian were taken to the police station for questioning, and on the way there, they kept their hands linked together, never letting go for the entire ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL wow, I'm terrible.
> 
> P.S., I totally did just redid the scene from 2x03 of Gotham but with a different person killing Jerome. Only this time, the person who did it actually did it to help someone else and not just for the fame and glory, smh (don't mind me, I still hate Theo Galavan and I'm venting about it).


	5. The Aftermath

The duo had been in the waiting room of the hospital for a good thirty minutes, awaiting any information the doctors had in regards to their two sons. Mickey’s leg was violently shaking, and not even his own hands could calm his nerves.

Ian, however, was eerily still. Eerily, due to the fact that his twin brother he officially got to know for only a few minutes of the day was now dead. Also eerily due to the idea of both of his kids possibly dying, had Mickey not freed himself from the ropes and had Ian not came down to the basement to see what was going on in time. His family, the one that keeps him up and running every day, could have died in that house if Ian hadn’t done anything, and the thoughts scared Ian out of his own head.

“Ay,” Ian heard Mickey grab his attention. His voice was a little hoarse, but Ian could still comprehend his words. “You okay?”

Ian didn’t respond. His elbows were leaning onto his knees, and his fingernails were scratching his lips where Jerome broke the skin during their fight. Everything hurts – his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his shoulder, his arm, his legs – he could feel every inch of the pain on his body, and it didn’t help that Isaac and Max were well in his mind, too, both sporting scars that could have very well gotten deeper than they probably were now.

Silence overcame the two of them. Mickey glanced back down at the white tiles beneath his feet, his fingers fumbling with one another. Then he spoke – timidly, but he did. “I never killed anyone before.” It meant to be a mumble to himself, but to Ian, it sounded like he was whispering an honest confession. “Sometimes Dad would take us out on his little errands and shit,” Mickey continued after a minute, “and when things would go bad between him and one other guy, he would…um…”

Ian didn’t want to think about it. He reached a hand over to Mickey’s, placing it flatly on top and rubbing the pads of his fingers against his knuckles. Ian didn’t want Mickey to worry about the consequences of all of this. The police let Mickey free for defending himself and his family, and Ian couldn’t have felt more grateful.

The only thing he wanted Mickey to focus on was safely getting their kids home and calming their nerves of this whole situation, because Ian knew all too well about what happened when little children get traumatized in an environment like Isaac and Max were just in. He had witnessed it at the old Gallagher home with Debbie and Carl, and now look where they are.

“You saved us, Mick,” Ian spoke with a layer of tears in his eyes. “You saved me, actually, but you know what I mean.”

“Ian –“

“No, listen.” Mickey gulped as blue eyes met green. “I would never go against family like that, and I know you wouldn’t, either. But after Jerome came all the way here from New York just to find and take the boys –“

“I just…” Mickey muttered out, biting his bottom lip. “A part of me…feels really bad about it. You know, pulling the trigger on someone, taking their life away and shit.”

Mickey understood why Ian was thanking him. It scared him, actually, knowing that Jerome had his husband at choke hold with no way out – that is, until Ian defended himself by punching him in the stomach with his elbow. Mickey hated seeing Ian getting hurt by anyone, whether it was Jerome, Ian’s piece-of-shit dad, Mickey’s own piece-of-shit dad, that towel head Ian used to work for, or even Mickey himself. And if Ian and Mickey were able to overcome those previous obstacles in their lives, whether it involved violence or anything otherwise, what was so different about now?

He took a long pause before looking Ian in the eye again. “But as long as the boys are safe, I think I’ll be fine.”

Ian sighed, gripping onto Mickey’s hand. They were silent for a couple of minutes. The only sounds they heard were the beeps of monitors in the different rooms on the floor, in addition to a couple of wheelchairs rolling around and nurses and doctors discussing amongst each other about the patients. It didn’t take too long before a brunette nurse with a purple top on wandered into the waiting area.

“Isaac Gallagher?” she called, trying to put a face to Isaac’s biological parents.

Mickey and Ian stood up, and Mickey walked over to the nurse. “I’m Isaac’s dad,” he spoke, suddenly filled with anxiety. He jerked a thumb back to where Ian was standing. “Well, _we_ are.”

“Isaac is doing very well right now,” she stated, and Mickey felt that that was all he needed to hear. “We let him get some sleep after we put the stitches in his neck. He was a little hard to work with when we showed him the equipment and such, but after a while, the crying seemed to calm down.”

Mickey released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. “Thank God,” he let out, and he felt Ian’s presence behind him within seconds.

“So he’s okay?” Ian asked the nurse, and she nodded her head, making Ian sigh in relief as well.

“At the moment, though, we can only have one visitor in the room,” the nurse continued. “And we’re almost finished with your other son, Max. I’ve got to say, though, that you were really, really lucky with him this time around.”

Ian and Mickey’s faces automatically fell. “W-what do you mean?” Ian stuttered, and Mickey felt himself gripping onto Ian’s hand.

“Well, from the depth of the cut the doctor had observed,” the nurse explained, “the knife could have torn one of his arteries, causing a major loss of blood, which could have had him unconscious within a matter of minutes.”

Ian was almost speechless. Max could have died there in the hospital, and all thanks to Jerome. He wasn’t sure how he wanted to react to all of this, but his eyes decided to do that for him. All that mattered was that Max was alive. He couldn’t think about what would happened otherwise; he couldn’t go through having another kid, as much as he loves kids, because Max is one of a kind – and Ian and Mickey’s first child. It would break Ian’s heart knowing that he would have had to put his child in a casket and bury him six feet under.

Mickey tightened the grip he hand on Ian’s hand before turning back to the nurse. “Thank you so much,” he spoke breathlessly. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she replied. “If one of you want to go see Isaac, I can take you down there.”

Mickey turned back to Ian, who struggled to keep himself together. “You wanna go?” he whispered, combing Ian’s hair to the side with his free hand. “I can wait here if you want –“

“No.” Ian spoke, the lump in his throat preventing him from speaking at his normal pitch. “You go. I want to see Max when he’s ready.”

With one final nod, Mickey squeezed Ian’s hand again before kissing him on the cheek. Before, Mickey wouldn’t catch himself doing these types of gestures in public, but he was with Ian now, so everything else was irrelevant. And Ian was on the verge of breaking down again – the second time today, he might add. Mickey hated that look Ian had when he was about to cry, but he knew that Ian knew Max’s current condition, so it was alright.

Mickey joined the nurse and walked down the hall, and Ian returned to his seat, plopping down and hiding his face so he could let out all of the tears.

* * *

When he and the nurse arrived at Room 134, Mickey’s brain suddenly didn’t know how to function.

He could see from outside of the room where Isaac was laying. The doctors had removed Isaac’s shirt and undershirt at the time they were doing the little surgery on him, and they left him in a hospital gown, the scar hidden underneath a white patch on Isaac’s neck. He was awake in the little hospital bed, clutching onto a teddy bear with a blue bow on it and biting down on his bottom lip, more traumatized and frightened than Mickey ever saw him.

Isaac reminded Mickey so much of how he used to look when his mother passed away. She wasn’t around much when she was alive, but she at least showed some care for her own kids, who were all left under the care of Terry Milkovich when she overdosed and died in her bedroom.

That’s what terrified Mickey so much: seeing his own kid looking smaller than he already was. And that big, white patch on his neck didn’t help, either. What surprised Mickey the most was how Isaac actually made it out of there alive. He was still just a baby. It shook Mickey hard how that scar could have gotten much worse.

But at the same time, he knew that fifty percent of Isaac was Milkovich blood, and Mickey knew a Milkovich like him when he saw one. They were fighters, and Isaac was no exception.

The nurse opened the door and walked in the room, with Mickey following closely behind. Those tiny baby blue eyes glanced up at his father walking in the room, and all kinds of relief flooded through his face. “Papa,” he greeted, a layer of tears forming in his eyes.

Mickey stood there for a moment, fiercely biting his bottom lip some more and looking at his toddler son from afar. _He’s alive. He’s really fuckin’ alive_. Mickey charged over to him, carefully picking him up and hugging him close. His arms tightened around the kid, but not in a way that would suffocate him, either. A tear fell from Mickey’s face onto Isaac’s hospital gown as he sniffed the familiar strawberry shampoo scent on his little body, but fuck everyone else who said that he wasn’t allowed to show his emotions for his own child.

“Papa, my neck hurts,” Isaac complained, his tears falling just as freely as Mickey’s. His father leaned back a little to observe the bandaged area closely. There was a jagged line on Isaac’s skin that Mickey could see even from underneath the white bandage on top of it. Damn Jerome.

Isaac cried on Mickey’s shoulder, and Mickey held the child as close as he could, swaying back and forth a little to calm him down. Tears were still on Mickey’s face, but he could care less. He had his baby in his arms, equally as upset but still breathing. “Don’t move your neck too much, okay?” Mickey choked out, caressing Isaac’s face. “You don’t wanna stretch the stitches out or anything.”

As Mickey held Isaac’s head in his other hand, the nurse started to speak again. “Are you feeling okay, Isaac? I could get you anything, if you want.”

Isaac’s eyes trained down towards his father’s lap, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m hungry,” he responded, and Mickey smoothed out his jet-black hair.

“I’ll go get you a sandwich and some juice, alright?” the nurse asked him, and Isaac nodded before she walked out of the room, leaving him and his father to sit silently together. As they did, more tears managed to fall from their eyes. Mickey was so grateful for getting his son back; he never wanted to leave him behind again.

“Isaac,” Mickey whispered.

“Yes, Papa?”

“I need you to tell me everything that happened when I left work today, okay?” Mickey looked down at the little boy, his own voice wavering a bit from the tears that threatened to form in his eyes. “I need to know what he did.”

Mickey wasn’t sure how Isaac’s eyes got bluer, but they did. The color in his eyes intensified, and his bottom lip looked like it was quivering. “He said he was gonna take us to the amusement park and get us cotton candy and all the toys we wanted,” he began, and Mickey felt steam escaping his own ears. “He said that he was going to buy me an action figure from the toy store.”

“And what happened after that?” Mickey asked, anger evident in his words.

Isaac made an attempt to swallow the lump in his throat that didn’t seem to go anywhere. “He took us to the car and, and he tied up Max’s hands,” he continued, “but he didn’t want to do it, and I didn’t wanna do it, either. And he said that if we don’t obey him, he was going to take his gun and shoot us.” With every word that came out of Isaac’s mouth, a shake from his tiny fingers followed suit. His whole face was covered in tears, and at that point, he couldn’t even look his father in the face.

Mickey’s body started shaking from Isaac’s words, trying not to believe that this story wasn’t true. Unfortunately, he couldn’t shake the thoughts out of his head. Isaac and Max were both victims here, and all because of some psychotic bastard that wanted to ruin his entire family.

After a moment of wiping the tears from underneath his nose, Mickey turned back to his son. “I…” Mickey started, but his voice hitched when he started to speak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I am… _so_ sorry, bud. I’m really sorry that I left you two back there. Just know that I didn’t leave you back there on purpose, alright?” Isaac nodded, sensing the guilt that his father was expressing that he had been holding back for so long. “I never want you two out of my sight again. Do you hear me?”

Isaac nodded, pressing his lips together as he felt his tears trying to fall down to his cheeks. “Papa…” he let out shakily.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t wanna go home.”

“Why not?”

Isaac sniffled. “The mean guy is gonna come get us.”

Mickey rubbed the raven-haired boy’s back. “No, he’s not, Isaac,” he explained. “Jerome is dead. They took him out of the house when we left.”

A fresh new set of tears came down Isaac’s face. “Please, Papa, I’m scared. Someone’s gonna come in and kill me.” Isaac hid his face in Mickey’s chest as his sobs got a little louder by the minute. Seeing his baby get worried over something like this after a shooting in their house was the last thing Mickey wanted to see in his lifetime, but due to unfortunate circumstances, it happened.

Regardless, Mickey held Isaac close to him as possible, shushing him every chance he got while peppering his tiny, wet face with kisses. He loved the kid so much and would do anything to keep him safe. And in all honestly, going home after an intruder was there hours prior wasn’t the best idea, either, in Mickey’s mind.

“No one will come, bud,” Mickey assured him as he kissed the top of his head. “They’ll have to go through me first before they even touch you, and I won’t let that happen. Do you understand?” Isaac nodded, but Mickey could still hear his cries. He meant every word he said; no one was going to get their hands on neither Isaac nor Max without getting away with it.

* * *

Tears poured down Ian’s face the moment he got a glimpse of Max in his hospital bed. He ran over and sat next to him, throwing his arms around the smaller redhead’s body, making sure he didn’t grab onto his injured arm. Ian placed a kiss on top of Max’s forehead, running his fingers through his strawberry-colored hair as the tears found their way to the little strands.

“Are you okay, Daddy?” Max asked with a hint of sadness in his eyes as he looked up at Ian.

His biological father sniffled and shrugged. “I’m just…really glad that you’re okay, Max,” Ian responded, wiping the tears off the left side of his face. “I’ll be fine.”

The air was still thick for Ian after finding out the news from the nurse earlier. He couldn’t imagine seeing his son dead – at least not now at such a young age. He was only seven and a half, with so much coming for him. Ian wanted to be there when he graduated elementary school, high school, and even college. Ian wanted to be there when he gets recognized for doing something great. He didn’t want to be there burying a seven and a half-year-old kid in a cemetery.

Ian gulped a little bit, turning back around the nurse from before. “If it’s okay,” he began, “I kinda want to talk to my son alone.”

The nurse nodded. “Of course,” she replied. “I got your other son something to eat, Mr. Gallagher. So if Max needs anything, just give me a call.”

“Thank you so much,” Ian acknowledged before the nurse headed over to Isaac’s room.

Max nervously glanced up at his father. “Dad,” he timidly spoke. Ian inched an eyebrow on his forehead, letting Max know he had his attention. “Was I going to die?”

It’s like Max knew what was almost going to happen all this time, and it broke Ian’s heart to pieces. Ian didn’t know how to break it to Max without hurting him or anything, but he didn’t know a way to really rephrase what the nurse told him in the hall. “Jerome…my brother – he, uh, he almost…cut into one of your arteries in your arm.”

“What’s an artery?” Max asked.

“The blood flows through them from your heart throughout your body,” Ian explained. “It’s in that little tube that goes through your arm, and the blood is supposed to stay in there, but…” Ian paused, shutting his eyes closed for a brief minute. “But my brother almost cut into it and…and you…”

Ian was shaking again. He held onto his son’s hand as he dipped his head and let some tears out through his eyelids. He didn’t expect Max to know these terms since he was only a child, but he also needed to know that he was luckier than he would have been, had Jerome actually killed him.

“I’m sorry, Max,” Ian whimpered, keeping his head down and shaking his head slightly. The migraine that had been building in his head was not going away. “I never meant for something like this to happen to you.”

Max looked at Ian with those puppy-dog eyes, similar to the ones Mickey had been looking at for the past few years in his and Ian’s relationship. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, Max. You could have died back there.”

Max was quiet for a brief moment before he looked at Ian again. “But Dad saved us,” he said softly, and Ian could hear his own words come back to haunt him. “I’m still here, am I?”

Ian sniffled and gazed back at his son, ruffling his red hair some. “You’re right.” He couldn’t believe how smart his son actually was.

Max leaned next to Ian and placed his head on Ian’s lap. “I love you, Daddy.”

Ian smiled, leaning down to give Max a kiss on his forehead. “I love you, too, sport.”

* * *

About a while later, both Max and Isaac were discharged from the hospital, and Ian and Mickey were free to take them home. It was dark outside, relatively around 8:45 at night, and the couple needed to get the kids to bed. But when they got Isaac and Max adjusted into the back seat of Ian’s car, Mickey started up a private conversation between him and Ian. Isaac fell fast asleep in his baby seat, and Max’s eyes got heavier by the minute.

“Isaac told me he doesn’t wanna go home,” Mickey whispered to Ian, looking down at his lap. The tears were long gone and his face was dry, but his mind was stuck on the helpless boy and their conversation earlier. “And I don’t blame him, either.”

Ian furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t feel safe back in that house, Ian. I tried to let him know that your evil clone was dead and that he didn’t have to worry, but all he’s thinking about now is the next guy who’s gonna break in our house and shoot him in the face with a gun.”

Ian gulped as he turned around and eyed the sleeping raven-headed toddler. He looked so peaceful and content where he was, his tiny chest rising and falling slowly with every tiny snore that escaped his nose. Ian wanted Isaac to be happy and satisfied, not having to worry about another criminal running around and looking for him.

“I could call Fiona and see if she’s willing to let us stay with her for a couple of days,” Ian suggested. “The kids could sleep in my old bed, and we could have the spare bedroom where Lip used to sleep.”

Mickey scoffed. “You willing to snuggle up in the same bed where he and my sister used to fuck?”

“Come on, Mick. The bed sheets are clean.”

“And you know this how?”

Ian rolled his eyes at his husband because, honestly, he was being ridiculous, but that was one of the things he liked about Mickey.

“And even if we get them over there, we would have to go back home for their pajamas.”

“Liam probably outgrew some of his clothes, and Carl is older and bigger, too. It’s only going to be for a few days so Isaac and Max will feel safer again.”

Mickey contemplated the options for a couple of moments before he nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed, and Ian turned on the ignition, getting ready to drive out of the parking lot. As he did so, Mickey timidly spoke up. “Ian?”

Ian hummed in response.

“If the day ever comes and one of us does die,” Mickey said, “and we don’t get the chance to say it, I just want to tell you in advance that I really love you guys.”

Ian was silent, taken back by the words that came out of Mickey’s mouth. “Mick,” he replied, placing a hand on top of Mickey’s, “we don’t have to think about this stuff now. I just wanna spend every moment with you three. Life’s too short to keep thinking about what could happen.”

“I know. It’s just…”

Mickey’s mind suddenly trained back to his mother and how she died when Mickey was so much younger than he was today. His mom, other than Mandy, was the best person in Mickey’s life before Ian and the kids came along – though he would never admit it to Mandy out loud. Still, he lost a very special person so long ago, and the thought of that almost happening to Ian, Isaac, and Max made him feel sick.

Ian sadly glanced over at Mickey, who was now hiding his face with both of his hands, and he parked by the curb so he could reach over and hug his husband, giving him soft kisses and comforting him as much as possible.

* * *

Ian and Mickey finally arrived at the old Gallagher residence a while later after calling Fiona about staying over and picking up a couple of Isaac’s stuffed animals from the house. Ian’s older sister was already outside when they parked by the curb, dressed in torn jeans and worn-out boots. She made her way towards their car, greeting Ian with a strong hug.

“I’m so glad you were able to get them back,” Fiona spoke, her voice muffled as her mouth was buried in Ian’s shoulder.

Mickey walked around the back of the car to wake Max up while Ian and Fiona got Isaac unbuckled from his baby seat. Fiona leaned in closer and noticed the bandage on Isaac’s neck, suddenly getting furious. “I hate that that bastard did this to him,” she grumbled, caressing Isaac’s cheek.

“Good thing we won’t have to worry about him anymore.” Ian grabbed Isaac from underneath the arms and hoisted him up out of the car seat and into his arms. Fiona helped close the door, and the duo followed Mickey and Max inside the house.

Inside, Frank was nursing a beer in his hands while reading a week-old newspaper. His head snapped around once Fiona, Mickey, and Ian came in with the kids. “Don’t you have your own farm to tend to your hens in?”

“Not tonight, Frank.” Ian responded, too tired to get into an argument this late at night. “They’re just scared, and they wanted away for a little while.”

Frank scoffed, taking another sip of his beer. “If you say so.”

Fiona reached for Isaac in Ian’s arms. “The three of you guys can wash up, if you want. I can watch Isaac for you until you’re done.”

Mickey ran his thumb over his lip as he eyed the sleepy kid in Fiona’s arms. “I don’t think he’s gonna get a bath or anything tonight. Kid’s practically counting sheep over there.”

Ian smiled. “We still have to get him in some pajamas, Mick.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Fiona spoke, pointing up to the ceiling. “Isaac and Max’s clothes are on your bed. I’ll just change the little guy, and Max can put on his stuff when he’s ready.”

Both Ian and Mickey nodded. “Thanks, Fiona,” Ian responded, side-hugging his older sister.

“Yeah, thanks.” Mickey added.

Fiona simply smiled at the couple, rubbing her hand on Isaac’s back as he snored against her chest. “Anytime.”

* * *

Ian came out of the bathroom with nothing but his boxers and some socks on. His red hair was still a little wet from the shower he just took, and he couldn’t have felt more relieved to get all of the stress off his shoulders. Fiona was still changing Isaac into a hand-me-down shirt, careful of the bandage that was on his neck, and Max was sitting at the desk with his head on his arms, wanting to wrap himself in the bed sheets and sleep everything off.

When Ian came into the guest room, Mickey was staring up at the ceiling, his hands underneath the back of his head. He winced a little bit at the pressure he applied to his fingers.

“Your head hurt or something?” Ian asked, crawling into the bed with him.

Mickey exhaled. “Fucker knocked me out with a damn hammer before you showed up.”

Ian’s eyes bugged out of their sockets. “Mickey, what the hell? You haven’t put anything on it?”

“Relax, Ian. The shower and stuff helped it a little bit,” Mickey reminded him. “It’s not like I was bleeding or anything.”

“But how was I supposed to know that he hit you in the head?”

Mickey waved off his last question. “My head is healing, Ian. I’m fine. It’s over. We don’t have to deal with this anymore. Let’s just get some shut-eye, ‘cause we’ve been through the fiery depths of hell all day today.” Ian didn’t want to put off the topic, but his droopy eyes were working against him. Besides, Mickey was right; now that Jerome was gone, neither one of them would have to think about what he would do next.

Soon enough, everyone in the house was fast asleep.

About an hour and a half later, Isaac woke up out of the bed he and Max shared to come into Ian and Mickey’s room after having another nightmare. “Papa, Daddy,” he whispered, opening the door and making his way to Mickey’s side of the bed.

Mickey cracked an eye open, noticing the scared little boy before him. “Hey, bud,” he greeted him, sitting up and picking him up into the bed. “Another bad dream again?”

Isaac nodded with the most innocent eyes Mickey has ever seen. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

The older man stared back at his son and nodded. “Of course, you can.”

Ian’s eyes cracked open the moment he saw Mickey adjust Isaac in between the two, and he leaned on his side to get a better view of them. “Was it a monster under the bed this time?” Ian asked sleepily, and Isaac shook his head.

“Guess he’s over the monsters for a while,” Mickey teased, laying back down and facing Ian and his son.

Isaac curled up in a little ball between Ian and Mickey, keeping his eyes down at his legs. “He was still coming for me,” he whimpered, and the men knew what that meant.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Even in his dreams, Jerome is still there.”

“But not in real life,” Ian added, “and that’s the best part, at least.” He reached his hand over to Isaac’s tiny body, rubbing circles on his arm. “You know we’ll always take care of you. Right, son?” Isaac nodded. “And if that bad man ever comes into your head again, Papa and I are going to scare him away.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Ian smiled, and Mickey would be lying if he said he didn’t smile at the exchange between the two of them. “Okay,” the redhead whispered to the toddler before scooting over and placing a kiss on Isaac’s forehead. “We gonna get some sleep tonight?”

Isaac nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

Across from him and Isaac, Mickey groaned and innocently looked Ian in the eye. “Ay, what about my kiss?”

Ian giggled before looking at Isaac once more. “Everybody loves Daddy’s kisses, right?” he asked, tickling Isaac and making the little boy laugh.

“I love ‘em more, though.”

“Is that right?” Ian inched an eyebrow on his forehead suggestively before he and Mickey leaned as close to each other as possible, planting a soft kiss on their lips. They looked down at Isaac, who was starting to feel left out in the exchange, and chuckled before kissing the little guy on the head. Soon after that, all three of them fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

A brunette woman dressed in a flowery dress and a lab coat was wheeling a cot down the hall to one of the labs. Before she made it to the door, she walked past one of her employees, who seemed to take a couple of glances down at the covered corpse in front of her.

“New shipment, ‘eh?” he teased, pointing to the body.

“Passed away yesterday,” she replied. “They found him in a married couple’s home. Said he went berserk.”

The blonde man shook his head. “It’s crazy how someone could go to that far of an extent in losing their mind.”

The woman shrugged. “I guess,” she replied. “He had a way about him, though.”

The man chuckled, looking the woman in her brown eyes. “What, you dig the guy or something?”

She shrugged. “Only one could tell.” The two employees exchanged smiles before the woman headed on inside the lab.

Once she was inside with the body, she removed the cover from Jerome’s face, revealing a dazed-looking man with crimson blood all over his lips and on the side of his face. A part of her couldn’t help but run a gloved hand over Jerome’s crazed hair, fascinated by the character that she could see even through a lifeless body.

With a final shake of her head, she smiled sadly. “Infectious, actually.” She then proceeded to head out of the room to grab her equipment, leaving Jerome’s face completely revealed under the fluorescent lighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last part, you can pretty much come up with an open-ended idea on what happens after that. Idk, some movies and stuff end with some unknown character(s) doing some shit, so I thought I would incorporate that.
> 
> Thank you to all of the people who have supported this story. I am still writing LTMH; it's just gonna take a while for that one to finish since I have so many ideas, yet I have so little time with school and everything. I'm thinking about doing more stories with the kids and such, and maybe some one-shots here and there. If you're interesting in submitting a prompt, I'll turn on anon on my Tumblr (promqueen-and-hairgel.tumblr.com), and you can send them to me there.


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